


These Hands Hold Stars

by reitoei



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reitoei/pseuds/reitoei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Prince Ben doesn't expect his marriage to Commander Poe Dameron of the New Republic Starfleet to be anything but a waste of time -- but times of change loom on the horizon and Ben finds himself falling for the man who might become his staunchest ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a handsome stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JakkuCrew (fromstars)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromstars/gifts).



 

Ben Solo is ten years old and he doesn’t want to be a King. He wants to be the hero — the Jedi Knight who saves the planet. Like every youngling, really. But he lost the draw and he’s too shy to complain, so he puts on the makeshift wooden crown and carries the necklace in his fist into the middle of the clearing, where he reaches up and drops it over the hero’s neck.

“You saved us,” he intones with childish solemnity. “How can we ever repay you?”

“I sure did!” the boy chirps, grinning. The other children whoop and dance around them. Ben sighs and drops his sceptre.

“I wanna play something else.”

The boy leans in, casting a quick glance around at the others to make sure they’re not listening. “Can you get us into the hangar? I wanna see your dad’s ship!”

Ben heaves another sigh. It’s a familiar request. “Yeah, okay.”

“Awesome! You’re the best.”

He tosses away the cape and crown, ignoring the warmth that creeps over him. “Uhuh.”

 

Ben is twenty three now and he’s resigned himself to his fate. His coronation is in six months.

He has _not_ , however, resigned himself to this.

 

“You want me to _marry_?” He can’t keep his voice from creeping up incredulously. “You can’t be serious. What does Dad say?”

“Your father has no say in the matter,” Leia says as sharply as she always does when he invokes Han. “You ought to be married by now anyway. I’ve put it off long enough. I thought you might meet someone but it’s clear that won’t happen before your coronation. A political union is next best thing.”

“ _You_ weren’t married at this age,” he points out.

“I was never in line for the throne,” she counters. “And, might I add, there were rather more pressing issues at the time. You’ll be King in less than a year. Tradition dictates that you marry before your coronation and I am inclined to agree.”

He slumps back in his seat. Nothing like one’s mother issuing orders to make one feel like a child again. “Ridiculous,” he says. “Who would I marry? To what end? Tie myself to some idiot who can’t tell their tail from their hindquarters, or some power-hungry minor lord from a backwater planet?”

Leia frowns. “Don’t be absurd. The candidates have been well vetted. None of them will be a poor match.” She pulls out a holo pad and taps it. A list of names springs up and she hands it to him. “Choose. You have a week. This isn’t negotiable, Ben. Your image among the Ministers is already poor — you refuse to attend public functions, you refuse to make nice with the Ministerial Council members. I won’t be around to soothe their ruffled feathers forever.”

Ben stares at the holo pad. “And if I can’t envision marrying any of these people?”

“Then I will choose for you,” she says, and he knows by the tone of her voice that she’s not bluffing. She folds her hands together, back stiff and upright as always. He knows his mother can be charming and warm, has witnessed it more times than he can remember, but both of them are too stubborn to ever have gotten on well. Instead of the sweet-talking politician he gets the woman who’s never seemed to know how to touch him, or smile at him, or reassure him. Well, he doesn’t need any of that now, he tells himself.

He lets out a sigh without thinking and Leia’s eyebrows come together. “It won’t be so bad — an arrangement like this is beneficial to both parties. There’s more to a marriage than love.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, scrolling through the names. “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”

 

In the end he chooses because he can’t bear the thought of her choosing for him. He knows as soon as he sees the name that she’d make him marry Hyatha Ruth of the Corellian nobles, because Corellia is Leia’s weak spot in the Senate and she’s been looking to fortify her alliance with them for years. But he can’t stand Hyatha, who’s as dimwitted as a sack of rocks and too politically-minded to be brushed aside; one of them wouldn’t survive the wedding.

He picks the one least likely to be interested in politics _or_ marriage — a pilot, a commander in the New Republic Starfleet only a few years older than him. Poe Dameron of Yavin IV is dedicated to his career and not much else, by all accounts, which suits Ben just fine. As a pilot Dameron will be away on missions more often than not, leaving Ben free to manage matters of the state without interference.

Leia is obviously not pleased but, having given him the freedom to choose, she bites her tongue in a rare moment of restraint.

“He isn’t the best political match,” is all she says.

Ben snorts. “You asked me to choose. I chose someone I can live with. He is charming and well-liked, but responsible enough that his company won’t be insufferable, and he has no political ambitions. It’s the best I can hope for.”

“You might need someone politically savvy who can take on the mantle of Senator one day when I retire,” she points out. “Someone loyal.”

“Marriage is no guarantee of loyalty.”

She sighs. “Well, that’s true enough. Alright, I’ll arrange it.”

“Much obliged, I’m sure,” he says darkly, and as easy as that his fate is sealed.

 

It feels like no time at all before Ben is standing with the welcoming party, watching Poe Dameron disembark from an ancient A-Wing as his escort stands to attention. It’s a Starfleet escort, of course, because his primary contribution to Yavin IV is one of military prestige. There are only one or two civilians. Dameron himself looks tousled and cheery, helmet tucked under one arm, wearing a standard navy-issue flight suit. He bows to Leia and as he straightens his eye catches on Ben, and he winks. Nonplussed, Ben looks away quickly.

“Your Highness,” Poe says as he reaches him. Ben holds a hand out and Poe takes it and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

To his horror Ben feels a flush rise in his cheeks and he pulls his hand away as quickly as he can politely manage. “Commander,” he replies, bowing his head. Poe moves on to greet the Minister beside him, unruffled.

It’s the only exchange they have before the ceremony less than a day later.

 

The ceremony is held in the Parade Square of the Upper Courtyard, where most formal events that Ben can remember have been held. It’s strange to stand at the head of the Square before the podium instead of on the left with Leia as he usually would. If he glances over he can see her now, and Han, too, looking as stiff and uncomfortable as ever. That old familiar bitterness rises in him and he tamps it down ferociously. This might not be a day of celebration for him but if he doesn’t manage to put on a good face for his own wedding he’ll never forgive himself.

Poe leans over. “They look proud,” he murmurs. He looks every inch a commander in his crisp dress uniform, the cloth expertly cut and the buttons gleaming. A badge pinned to his chest denotes his home planet; he’ll have to commission a new one soon.

“They’re required to look proud. They’re my parents.” Ben looks again, wondering what Poe sees there. Poe is frowning, but before he can say anything else the officiary sounds his horn and the party comes to attention.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur until Poe holds out his hand and Ben takes it clumsily and leans in, realizing suddenly that he has to kiss this man he’s only met a day ago, an act which seems unbearably intimate. To his surprise Poe cups his chin with his free hand and draws him in gently and the kiss itself is a soft, considerate press of lips, warm and dry and thankfully brief. Ben closes his eyes for a moment and then it’s over. The audience applauds, weddings being nothing so much as a spectator sport.

As they walk through the path the party makes for them Ben notices belatedly that he’s still holding Poe’s hand. Poe flashes him a smile and gives his hand a little squeeze, and then he’s whisked off by one of his military companions as the band strikes up a beat and the crowd disperses to clear the floor.

_I’m married,_ Ben thinks dazedly, watching Poe dance back-to-back with a dark-haired young woman. _I’m married to a complete stranger._ For the first time during this whole affair he feels panic bubbling up inside him. He’s a Prince and soon he will be a King; he’s used to his decisions having weighty consequences. But this is perhaps the only time that he’s made a decision which directly affected his own day-to-day life, and he can’t help feeling like maybe he made a mistake.

 

It’s bizarre being at a function where everyone wants to talk with him and he’s soon exhausted by the constant stream of well-wishers. He’s almost never among people who are more interested in him than in his mother — he’s accompanied Leia to councils and functions and Senate meetings since he was nine and most people never spared him a second glance until he was eighteen and had officially been named heir to the throne. He’s accustomed to being overlooked. The attention is unsettling and after two hours of it, he thinks that if he has to thank one more person for their congratulations he might crack.

When the music picks up and someone organizes a group dance, drawing a few of the still-hovering dignitaries away, Ben makes a quick escape.

Outside the circle of lights the Houses glow softly in the gloom and twilight makes everything indistinct, blurring objects and their shadows together. Ben picks his way down a path hung with heavily scented flowering vines and stops at the small courtyard where the statue of his mother stands on a plinth.

Leia hates the thing but Ben is rather fond of it — it’s her as a young woman, her hands tucked into her sleeves in a formal, almost serene pose, her dress billowing out behind her. It’s the fierce expression that he really likes, though, the barely contained defiance which makes her look almost human. It’s an expression that gives him some small measure of hope — that perhaps she hasn’t steered him wrong after all, that she understands him better than he thinks. It’s telling that every time he comes here he’s older and his hope is less and less.

“Senator Organa told me I might find you here.”

Ben turns. Poe’s cheeks are dark with exertion and he’s smiling, a sparkle in his eyes that makes Ben’s stomach twist up. He hasn’t looked to his peers for affirmation or acceptance in a long time — he’s been sure of his place since he was young. Now he feels himself uncharacteristically wanting to endear himself to Poe.

“Good party.” Poe comes closer. “Your mother dances well. I missed you on the dance floor, though.”

“You didn’t miss much, I can assure you.” Ben turns back to the statue, cheeks warm. Just from the attention of an attractive man, he thinks, a little disgusted with himself. A political union is not a romantic one. Perhaps he should have married someone a little less charming to mitigate his expectations.

“On Yavin it’s customary for the newly partnered to share a dance,” Poe is saying. “I was hoping you’d permit me to lead you through it.” He’s standing close enough now that Ben can feel the heat coming off him. He risks a sidelong glance. Poe catches his eyes deliberately and rests a hand on his arm. “May I?”

“I suppose, if it’s customary,” Ben says, allowing himself to be pulled in, his heart hammering. Poe’s hands are firm and he isn’t shy about moving Ben where he wants him to be. It sparks a contrariness in him that makes him say, “I’ll lead the next one.”

Poe grins, although the usually charismatic expressiveness of his smile is subdued. “If you insist.”

The music comes to them faintly from down the path and Poe turns them in perfect sync with the swell of it, their boots tapping the stone as they step. Ben makes the mistake of looking down as Poe looks up and his breath catches in his throat. Poe reaches up smoothly as if he’s planned this all along, sliding his hand around the back of Ben’s neck under his hair, his thumbs ghosting along the smooth spot behind his ear. With a sigh, Ben dips his head and his eyes drift shut.

This kiss is better than the last — both for being somewhere without an audience and because of the easy way Poe moves his mouth against his, the puff of his hot breath when he pulls away, the gentle pressure he exerts to keep Ben in place so he can lean in again; a host of insignificant details that rush through the cracks of his defences like water. They kiss with increasing urgency, lips parted, and a noise escapes him when Poe licks at his bottom lip and into his mouth. He groans and presses forward but to his disappointment Poe pulls back, eyes flatteringly glazed over.

“Alright,” he says breathlessly. “Your turn.”

Ben takes a moment to get himself under control.

He doesn’t enjoy dancing but Leia made sure of his technical ability over the years. The music has faded now, so he leads Poe through the traditional Alderaanian dance for newlyweds, a slow and straightforward number which needs no accompaniment. Poe is quite pliable when he’s being led and Ben feels a warm, shivery feeling growing in him as they step sideways around the plinth. The air has begun to cool and a breeze kicks up from the lake far below. They finish and then begin again, this time with Poe hesitantly leading him through steps he has only just learned, and Ben is impressed in spite of himself at Poe’s skill.

“You’re quite good,” he says. In his effort not to sound begrudging it comes out low and intimate in the near-dark. Poe’s hand on his waist is hot and he’s not quite maintaining the distance required to step accurately.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Poe returns, stepping out and then back to an imaginary beat. He puts both hands on Ben’s shoulders and stills them both. “Hey,” he says softly. “Maybe we should… retire elsewhere.”

A curious fear bubbles up in the pit of Ben’s stomach. He could say no; _a relationship is predicated on the ability to know and enforce one’s boundaries_ , he hears Leia say. But the idea of refusing is almost laughable. Even if he never has this again, he’d be a fool to turn it down now.

“My rooms,” he says, a rasp of anticipation in his voice. Poe gives him a look through his thick eyelashes that’s almost shy, that Ben is certain he’s misinterpreting in the dim light.

“Lead on.”

 

Ben sheds his robe in the outer room, a flutter of nervous anticipation alive in him. He’s certainly had sex with strangers before, but this is… decidedly different. He hangs up the robe and sets his boots by the door, straining to hear anything from the inner chamber. Poe asked to shower first, which is both considerate and nerve-wracking, and speaking with the guards outside the door has put him on edge. The guards are a new addition to his security as the rooms themselves aren’t bio-locked, and he struggles not to find their presence an insult. They also have the tendency to cede rank to Leia and allow her into his rooms when he’s specifically told them to let no visitors pass. He’s damn sure they know why he’s demanding privacy tonight and it rankles him.

He shuts the door to the inner room behind him and it seals with a hiss. Inside it’s dim and hushed and he can hear the faint rush of water as he sits down on the edge of the bed and loosens the tie at his waist. There’s a bag at the end of his bed, military-issue, unbuckled. Someone must have moved it in here. Their rooms are adjoining so that they can come and go freely but even the passing thought of someone like Poe Dameron settling into Ben’s carefully carved out spaces in this galaxy simultaneously warms his cheeks and feeds the rising panic in him.

“Hey, you okay?”

Ben looks up. Poe stands in the doorway between the shower room and the bed, a white towel around his waist and another one in his hand. He’s otherwise naked, and clearly in good shape. He’s well-defined and golden in all the places that Ben is lean and soft and pale. Ben drags his eyes away and tugs at his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. “Yes, fine,” he says.

“You know we don’t have to — “ Poe makes a gesture in the air between them. “Do anything you don’t want to.”

Ben frowns. “Of course,” he says, maybe more sharply than he means to. Immediately regretting his tone, he stands and drops his shirt over the back of the chair next to the bed and strips out of his under-clothes before he can talk himself out of it. “How would you like to — ?”

Poe closes the distance between them, tossing the towel over Ben’s clothes. “Just like this,” he says, cupping Ben’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones gently. He kisses Ben until they’re both a little out of breath and more than a little turned on. Poe bites the juncture between his neck and shoulder and Ben shudders. He reaches for the towel around Poe’s waist and yanks it down, suddenly eager. Poe herds him toward the bed, one hand splayed against the small of his back, his half-hard cock brushing Ben’s thigh.

The backs of his legs hit the bed and he sits down abruptly. “Lie back,” says Poe, giving his shoulder a firm push. Ben goes, letting himself take pleasure in how easily Poe handles him, letting it cloud his head a bit. He blinks uselessly up at Poe as Poe arranges him to his liking, nudging his thighs apart, pulling his knee up, reaching down with a casually proprietary air to rub a thumb along his collarbone and down his chest. He shivers and sighs and his eyes flutter closed. When he opens them again Poe is kneeling over him with an expression that could be called predatory, a smirk with just the barest hint of teeth. “Better.”

He kisses his way down Ben’s smooth chest, licks his soft, flushed nipples until Ben whines and bucks his hips. Bites at the pale skin of his abdomen. Ben touches his hair cautiously and then decides against it. A moment later Poe sucks at the head of his cock and Ben grabs his hair without thinking, a sharp sound escaping him.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, one hand on the back of Poe’s neck to hold him in place. He tries not to move his hips as Poe takes him down. His mouth is hot and silky-wet and the back of his throat closes around his cock as he swallows and then pulls back, then swallows again. Ben moans and tosses his head back against the pillow. Poe is enthusiastic and he doesn’t let up, jerking the base of Ben’s cock while he licks around the shaft and then taking him in impressively far. Far too quickly the heat wells up inside him and Ben pushes at his shoulder in warning.

Poe pulls off. “You can come in my mouth,” he says.

Ben curses. Poe runs his tongue up the underside of his cock and over the slit in the tender, leaking head, and sucks at it like he’s waiting for Ben, and Ben obliges, biting off a moan into the meat of his palm as his orgasm rushes over him. Poe opens his mouth and takes it, and then gently mouths at his cock, come dribbling down onto Ben’s curls. When it becomes too much Ben pushes at his forehead in protest and he lets Ben slip out of his mouth and rubs the come into his softening shaft with two fingers.

He moves up the bed and kisses Ben, slips him his tongue, and Ben tastes his own bitterness on Poe’s lips. He twines his fingers into Poe’s hair and Poe makes a pleased noise.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, and Ben suddenly, viscerally wants that, the thick push of it, the intensity of being fucked. It’s been a long time — a couple years, he thinks — but he still remembers liking it enough that he begged for it.

“Yeah,” he growls. “Do it.”

Poe moves away suddenly and leans off the end of the bed, rifling through his bag. Ben realizes Poe must have prepared for this, that he’s brought his own lubrication — it’s both flattering and sort of presumptuous. He folds his knees up and shuts his eyes. His hands are trembling with anticipation.

Poe braces himself over him and kisses his neck, his breath hot on Ben’s skin. He rubs the slippery pad of his finger over Ben’s hole before he pushes in. Ben makes a strangled noise and shifts away from the intrusion. It’s more uncomfortable than he remembers it being, or maybe that’s only because it’s not obscured by the immediate urgency of arousal. “Stop, stop,” he mumbles, pushing Poe’s wrist away.

“Shh, okay.” Poe strokes his face, the dip between his eyebrows, the curl of his mouth. It’s too much; Ben turns his face away and tucks it into the crook of his arm. Poe presses his lips to Ben’s forearm and sits back.

He wraps his slicked-up fingers around his cock and jerks off while Ben watches, one palm cupping his balls, his lip drawn up between his teeth as he looks down at Ben. A cocky smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “You look good like this,” he says. He pauses to swing one leg over Ben’s thighs and straddle him. The minute jerk of his hips makes his ass rub against Ben’s cock and Ben wonders if he can get hard again from the little shocks that run up his spine. He smoothes down the hairs on Poe’s chest and Poe covers his hand with his own, his grip tightening as his other hand moves faster over his erection. His breath is coming in short pants now. Ben tugs their joined hands down and licks at the pad of Poe’s thumb, sucking it into his mouth and running his tongue down the underside. He nips it sharply and Poe hisses and pushes his thumb in past Ben’s teeth, rubs his tongue with it.

“Yeah,” he groans. “Shit, your mouth.”

Before Ben can offer to suck him off he comes with a gasp, spurting over Ben’s stomach. He milks his cock through it and gently withdraws his thumb, wiping it on the sheets beside Ben’s head. With a sigh he gets off Ben and stands.

“Here,” he says, reaching for the towel.

They clean up silently and Ben tries to be subtle in watching Poe, though he doesn’t think he succeeds. Poe takes the towel from him and he slides between the sheets, finding himself suddenly exhausted. Poe has his own bed in another room, of course, but Ben wonders if he’ll stay. He’s gone a while.

Finally the other side of the bed dips and Poe leans over him and brushes the hair off his forehead.

“You can sleep here,” Ben tells him, his voice rough.

“Thanks,” Poe says. He sounds amused. “Goodnight, Ben.”

“‘Night.” Ben rolls over and _thinks_ the lights off.


	2. marriage brings us together

 

The next morning Ben wakes early as usual. Although he doesn’t exactly sneak off, it’s a close thing. Poe is still asleep when he leaves the room to find food and appropriate clothing for the day, sprawled out on one side of the big bed, his foot sticking out from under the covers. He looks scruffier in the pale light of day that filters through the curtains; younger, perhaps, as well. Ben huffs an irritated sigh at his own romanticism and gathers his clothes for the cleaners. He can’t afford attachments or distractions. In less than half a year he’ll be running a planet. One night will not translate into some kind of foolish crush.

_Furthermore,_ he thinks, _surely Dameron has plenty of admirers he’d rather spend time with._

 

Of course, although Ben prides himself on being in control of his inclinations, this would be the one time he finds himself uncharacteristically unable to contain the anxious twist of his stomach when Poe comes down to sit with him at the breakfast table and flashes him a bright grin. And later while they’re signing the stack of documents that bind them in partnership and solidify the trade and political alliances between Yavin IV and New Alderaan, when Poe catches his eye, he’s horrified to find himself looking away shyly. Poe finishes first and stands, placing a brief hand on his shoulder before he leaves. Ben fixes his gaze resolutely on his own paperwork. He can keep busy; this attraction will burn itself out soon enough.

It’s easier said than done, however.

Although the majority of his days are soon taken up by the Ministerial Council, wrangling of this or that City Lord, and his mother’s latest Senatorial plot, he and Poe still share a bed and a night-time routine which requires a minimum amount of contact and conversation. After the first day they separate to attend to their respective affairs, but Ben returns that night to find Poe’s bag still at the foot of his bed, empty now, and Poe’s clothing in the closet next to his. His dress uniform is folded and stowed on the shelf above the rack. There’s a holovid player on the table next to the water dispenser, and a stack of discs. His boots have found their way next to Ben’s in the outer room, their worn softness contrasting with the sleek and well-polished black of Ben’s own boots. In the morning he pulls them on and straps them up before he goes to train with New Alderaan’s small fleet, whipping them into shape, Ben presumes, and Ben likes to watch him from the other room and pretend he’s not looking.

They haven’t even had sex again — Ben is too prideful to ask, and he wouldn’t expect Poe to initiate. It isn’t as though he’s giving his over-active imagination _more_ fuel. It’s only that he can’t help remembering Poe touching his face and saying _You look good like this,_ his flushed cheeks, the head of his cock peeking out from his fist as he came. Ben jerks off thinking about it as discreetly as he can and afterward almost invariably feels ashamed.

A week into their marriage Poe leaves for a flight drill in inter-system space. It’s only a five-day mission but Ben still misses him. He throws himself into his work, determined to get over his infatuation while he can.

There are plenty of distractions. Leia has him working on some project of hers the details of which she won’t tell him — only that it involves endless requests for funding from the Senate and meetings she has him arrange with a few governments he knows they’re on good terms with, who are strong allies. There are rumours, though, rumours of strange ships in the Outer Rim which Ben feels in his gut are connected to Leia’s machinations. She’s more clever than most people give her credit for. Though she’s still one of the most respected Senators in the New Republic Ben knows her influence has waned in the last ten years and she has more trouble arranging the Senate to her liking than she used to, and whatever she’s planning now she’s going about it more delicately than she ever has.

“I know you’re fishing for information,” Leia informs him sharply when he hands her a disc containing a half-finished grant form. He returns her scowl, not in a good mood today. Minister Ba’tu has been giving him trouble over a trade route between New Alderaan and the Yorubian System, where he has family. Some Alderaanians chose not to settle on New Alderaan after the destruction of their home planet, which Ben can’t blame them for, but a few consider themselves more than mere ex-patriots and have allies within the Council working to turn the politics in their favour; fewer tariffs, stronger contracts, military alliances. Ben hates walking the line between putting his people first and appearing compassionate toward other survivors.

“I can’t complete it if you don’t tell me where the funds are going,” he replies. Leia presses her lips together and sighs. She scrolls through the form and then takes the disc and gives the holopad back to him.

“This is good enough. I’ll take it from here.”

Ben tucks the holopad away. She’s already turned back to her desk, her shoulders a stiff line under her jacket. He’s disappointed; he thought she’d take the bait, her dislike of paperwork being notorious. “That’s it?”

“Ben, please,” she says.

“Fine.” He turns on his heel and strides out. The sharp sting of disappointment never really lessens with age. He could be a boy again, hoping that his parents will show up to watch his droid race. It’s just as humiliating now to be so easily dismissed.

The situation with the Yorubian system doesn’t improve over the next few days and Ben spends his evenings after Council in something of a funk, wondering if his opinions will really be given any more credence after his coronation. He’s certainly not the youngest regent to take the throne, nor even the most inexperienced — still, he seems to have inherited Leia’s reputation for being unpredictable and rebellious without any of her charm, or indeed her history of heroics.

He finds himself sitting on the wide, curving arc of the balcony outside of the receiving room after an unsatisfying dinner during which Leia remained evasive and Han asked him uncomfortable questions about things he hasn’t been interested in since he was twelve — the usual gamut of family dinners — and he tried not to lose his temper. He’s drinking something foul and unnecessarily strong, but there’s no Council tomorrow, thank the Maker, and he can damn well indulge himself. He’s well into his third glass when he hears the door slide open.

“I thought I saw the light on out here.” It’s Poe, and his heart leaps unbidden into his throat.

“You’re back early.” He turns back to the view with an air of nonchalance.

“One of our squadrons ran into some trouble in an asteroid belt. We had to escort them back to Chandrila.” Poe comes up to the railing and, to Ben’s surprise, sits down next to him. A sigh escapes him and Ben glances over. He looks tired, his hair still sticking up every which way and a grim frown at the corners of his mouth. “It was just a training mission — we should’ve been able to handle it.”

Unthinkingly, Ben reaches over and grips his arm in sympathy. Poe drops his head down onto the bars of the railing. “Whatever you’re having looks pretty tempting right about now,” he says.

“It’s vile,” Ben says. “I’ll get you a glass.”

Drinking one’s sorrows away, as it turns out, never fails as a universal bonding mechanism. Halfway into the bottle Ben finds himself telling Poe about growing up with parents who were heroes to the rest of the galaxy but who grew more and more distant as Ben left childhood and became his own person — unhappy, quiet, and introspective, so unlike either of them. “My mother was always terrified I’d show signs of Force-sensitivity,” he snorts. “Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in this position if I had. Can you imagine _me_ as King of anything?”

Poe pours him another drink and hands it to him. “As surprising as it may sound, I can.”

Ben eyes him skeptically. “I suppose you have only known me for three weeks.”

“I see how hard you work,” Poe says seriously. “I think anyone would be a fool to underestimate you.”

The words twist and squirm uncomfortably in his mind, like Poe is trying to convince him with more than just alcohol-driven sincerity. Ben shakes his head. “Alright, so what’s your story? How did you end up… here?” He waves a hand around. Poe snorts, head tipped back to look past the shield and into space.

“You say ‘here’ like it’s a bad place to be. I just always wanted to fly, so I did. And if I wanted to keep flying, I had to get better — learn to lead people, to strategize… to keep my wits together in the face of danger. It wasn’t _easy_ , maybe, but it was simple enough for me.” His gaze drifts to Ben. “I’ve always known what I wanted.”

 

After that they settle into a kind of alliance; although the day to day of their lives doesn’t often line up they are similar in more ways than Ben would have thought, and while it’s not exactly the two of them against the world they still snatch moments together where they can to commiserate, dinner or a late-night drink or a cup of caf in the morning. They rarely come to bed or wake at the same time but Ben finds to his dismay that when he can’t sleep he lies awake and listens to Poe breathe and wonders if he dares wake him up to ask for a kind of comfort he’d never imagined having.

Of course he doesn’t — he keeps Poe at a literal and figurative arms’ length, in spite of their tentative friendship. He can imagine Poe’s reaction: hesitation, that little frown of discomfort before he agrees because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, or out of pity.

 

Four months passes swiftly. Before Ben has time to blink his coronation is around the corner. He doesn’t feel any more or less ready than he did when he was eighteen; it’s still unimaginably strange, and yet he knows he’ll only be doing the same familiar thing he’s done for the last five years.

He’s thankfully not involved with the preparations but the squabbling among the Ministerial Council members takes a sharp turn for the worse as the date approaches. He’s aware that on some level it’s because those most ambitious Ministers are used to having unfettered access to the Alliance and they’re flexing their muscles, making things difficult for him before his official veto power kicks in in the hopes that he’ll be cowed by their show of strength. Even so, the Council is usually of one mind about two important things: direction of military resources and support for the New Republic Senate. What he’s hearing now is a worrying schism between what appears to be two fronts. One, a growing number of Ministers and City Lords putting forth isolationist policies in session, advocating less military support for the New Republic and more focus on the New Alderaanian economy; the other, an old guard of sorts. Ben has been following the politics of New Alderaan for nearly fifteen years and he’s never seen anything like it.

“It’s unsettling, and I can’t put my finger on why,” he tells Leia as he follows her down the corridor toward the Senate Hall. This is the last time he’ll be off-planet until after the coronation and Council has been suspended in his absence. It’s technically a holiday — he has no meetings to attend or allies to cozy up to — but he finds that he can’t unwind.

Leia flicks the train of her robe in annoyance. “These old idiot Senators,” she snaps, ignoring him. Something’s put her in a mood. “They’ve sent me a _private message_ like I’m some brainless twit to be scolded! I could bring this whole place down on their heads and the New Republic Alliance wouldn’t bat an eye — “

“ _Mother_.” Ben interrupts her. She turns and pins him with a look. The funny thing is, there was a day when she _could_ have brought them to heel with a few well-placed words and she didn’t because she respected their age and experience enough to listen to them. Politicians have short memories.

“What? Oh, Ben.” She sighs. “Yes, your Council. Quite right, you should be unsettled. Collectives such as the Council are like a herd of nerfs — lumbering and obvious in their behaviour, but surprisingly sensitive to disturbances in the environment. This upheaval is only a sign of things to come.”

“So what am I to do about it? I can’t let them shoot off in two different directions like that,” he says.

“Well, there’ll be more than _two_ directions soon enough, I can imagine,” she told him. “Keep them in line! It’s not unusual for a regent’s first act to be stamping out all opposition. People expect it. Now if you don’t mind, the Senate is nearly in session.”

The doors to the Senate Hall slide open. Beyond them is a tumultuous din. Leia gives him a parting nod and strides through, closing the doors behind her and leaving him in silence.

 

The Senate session doesn’t go well, but Ben hears little of it beyond that. Not long afterward Poe bursts into the room they’re sharing, out of breath and looking distinctly unhappy.

“I have to leave,” he says. “There’s a mission.”

Ben looks up from the holoreel. “Now?”

“We’re heading out in two standard hours.” Poe grabs his bag from beside the bed.

“You’re not coming back to New Alderaan with us?” Ben sits up. The number of missions has increased steadily over the last three months; Poe’s hardly planetside for more than a few days at a time. “Where will you be?”

Poe shakes his head, his mouth tight. “It’s classified.”

“I have military security clearance,” Ben points out.

“Not for this,” says Poe.

“When will you be back?”

“Don’t know.” Poe rolls up his extra pants and shirt and stuffs them into the bag.

“Anything you _can_ tell me?” he asks stiffly.

“Come on, Ben,” Poe sighs, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I can’t tell you for your own safety. I know you’re no stranger to that.”

“Of course I’m not. I’d just hoped that by the time I passed the age of majority people would stop using it as an excuse,” Ben snaps. “I can protect myself.”

“Well, maybe I want to protect you.” Poe crosses his arms. “Whatever we’re going into is messy, and I’d prefer if you didn’t know. If — “ he stops and takes a deep breath. “When I come back, we’ll have a drink and I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

And that’s that, really, because no matter how stubborn Ben is he’s coming to realize that Poe is equally as stubborn, if not more, especially when it comes to Starfleet business. Ben expected him to be dedicated — a person didn’t get to be wing commander at such a young age without a certain kind of drive — but he hadn’t expected to _want_ him to be otherwise.

“Fine.” He sits back against the cushions and tries to fit his frustration back into his head where it belongs. “Be safe.”

Poe gives him a long look and bites his lip, but says nothing further.

 

Ben returns to New Alderaan and tries to corral his Ministers with some successes and some rather notable failures. There’s no word from Poe, although he doesn’t usually send messages during a mission; there’s no word on when he’ll be back, either. Another week passes, and a sour, twisting feeling turns slowly in the pit of Ben’s stomach.

He finds himself sitting out on the balcony in the early morning before the sun rises, watching ships streak to and fro across the sky. At night he dreams, and although he stopped having night terrors at ten, these dreams are more vivid than usual and the lingering panic they inspire makes him afraid to go back to sleep. Instead he drinks caf and wonders how anyone can live through caring about another human being, and in the morning he showers and dresses and goes through his day mechanically.

 

Two days later Leia informs him in no uncertain terms that no, she does not have access to classified Starfleet mission briefings, so Ben does the next best thing; he goes to see Han.

 

Han’s little shop is a familiar mess and being there is instantly grounding. Ben doesn’t visit often these days but as a child he had spent a great deal of time there and there’s a particular smell to it that he recalls, and the sounds of shouting in the streets and younglings screaming and the clanging engines out by the racetrack haven’t changed at all. Even the shop itself is much the same as it was fifteen years previous, dusty and cluttered the way Han had bought it from its last owner. His father looks older now, though, his hair fully grey and more lines at the corners of his mouth. He stares at Ben in a completely new way, too.

“You look… good,” he says.

“Thanks.” Ben is pretty sure he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. “How’s the shop?”

The shop is off-island in the main city, where Ben hardly ever goes. He’s taken a nondescript speeder from the lot but for once he listened to the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his mother and brought a driver along. It _would_ be embarrassing to be kidnapped just a few days before his coronation. The driver stands near the doorway, clearly the most uncomfortable here out of all of them, dressed in a conspicuous black robe that cuts away to a tight black fighting outfit and wearing a blaster at her hip. Han keeps glancing over at her.

“Fine, fine,” he mumbles distractedly, shuffling some chips around on the counter. “What can I help you with? Or did you come down here to chat?”

“No, dad, I didn’t come to chat.” Ben snags one of the chips. “Are you making bets on your racers again? I thought you stopped doing that.”

Han gives him a sly smile. “A gambler never _stops_ , he merely takes a hiatus. I’ve won some good money on those racers. I fixed up the Falcon’s hyperdrive and — “ he pauses. “Anyway, what did you come to talk about?”

“Not here,” Ben says, his gaze cutting away to the driver. He has no doubt she’ll report back to Leia on his whereabouts, but he’d rather she not be able to repeat their conversation word for word.

“Out back, then.”

Han leads him through the back bay where tiny mech droids swarm all over his latest racer, chirping at each other in their miniature voices. They’ve always given Ben the creeps but they are undoubtedly the best of the bunch, much more agile than your average space-ready pilot’s droid and built for long-term problem mapping.

“Still using the little bugs, I see.” Ben eyes them as they pass, and one of them beeps a greeting at him.

“Well, you know, I love to hate ‘em,” Han replies with a shrug. “They’re great for shop work but I still can’t keep them from chewing up a racer’s engine and just doing whatever the hell they want. Got a mind of their own. My jockey ends up spinning out in the middle of the twentieth cycle and I get investors coming in left and right demanding to know what I did to the rear engine. I guess there’s still nothing like a mechanic’s personal touch.”

“Did you fix the issue with the ion booster?”

Han eyes him as if he knows that Ben is buttering him up. “Sure did,” he says, and he can’t keep a note of pride from creeping into his voice. “It was just a couple of loose wires way up inside the canister. Had to take the whole damn thing apart. My hands aren’t up for that kind of work these days. Could’a used a younger pair.”

Ben makes a face. Han can’t guilt him as easily as his mother — the man was barely present after his ninth birthday, and he’s not bitter about it anymore but he doesn’t feel any particular loyalty either — but he does recall mechanics being one of the few things he’d been interested in for its own sake. “Maybe another time,” he says, and Han snorts.

“Look, I know that ship has flown. What is it then? Matrimonial troubles?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Ben says darkly. “What do you know about Leia’s pet project in the Senate?”

Han stops with his hand on the door. “Not a lot. Why?”

“Well, she seems to think I’m stupid or blind or both, because she’s been sending Dameron off on missions for the last month at least and he’s passing them off as Starfleet business.”

A frown creases his father’s forehead and he opens the door and ushers Ben through. “Sit,” he says, taking a seat himself on the stoop. The alley behind the shop is quiet and overgrown with weeds, more so than it was last time Ben was here.

In truth it had only been a hypothesis of his —the timing of Poe’s latest mission had been just right — but Han’s lack of denial solidified it in his mind, and it was bracing to have it confirmed so easily. Like dunking his head in a vat of cold water. He sits, the air rushing out of him in a breath.

“I shouldn’t be telling you anything,” Han’s saying. “Your mother would have my hide.”

Ben clenches his hands in his robes. “For telling me what I deserve to know?”

“She doesn’t want you to be distracted,” Han says.

“Well, I’m distracted. So tell me. Where is Dameron?”

“I don’t know.” Ben opens his mouth and Han holds up a hand to forestall him. “Hang on, kid. She didn’t tell me where they are — all I know is they’re somewhere in the Outer Rim close to the Unknown Regions. What I _do_ know is that they’re on their way back. I’m meeting them in neutral space outside the Chandrilan system in two standard days.”

Ben’s heart jumps. “Why are you meeting them? Do they need help?”

“Yeah,” Han says. “From what Leia said, they’re going to need all the help they can get.”

 

Ben doesn’t make it into the Millennium Falcon with Han — Leia finds out about their conversation, of course, and forbids it. But he does, with some effort and serious head-butting, get onto the command ship that’s meeting them within Chandrilan space.

When Poe’s B-Wing comes screeching to a halt in the landing bay on the viewscreen Ben gathers his robes about him and sweeps past the door guard with as much dignity as he can muster before breaking out into a run. He arrives in the bay out of breath, heart pounding, in time to see Poe helping a youngling in a too-big flightsuit down from the cockpit. Around them are similar scenes — Poe’s cohort disembarking with one, sometimes two children in tow. Ben stops short in the doorway.

Someone spots him and yells something indistinct, and Poe turns to see him. Shock registers on his face, and he scoops up the boy with almost no effort and turns his face down to say something to him as he strides toward Ben.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks as he approaches. Poe reaches out and grips his arm, giving him a wild grin.

“This is Finn,” he says of the boy. “Finn, this is my husband, Ben — remember, I told you about him? I’m going to put you down now, okay?”

The boy nods, his eyes fixed on Ben. He can’t be that young, but he’s curiously quiet. Poe deposits him on the ground and sweeps Ben into a tight hug.

Tentatively Ben reciprocates. Poe jams his face into the crook of Ben’s neck and mumbles something indistinct, his breath warming the little patch of bare skin there. He pulls away and says more clearly, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Ben stares at him. “I can hardly believe you’re in one piece.” Then he remembers suddenly that he wouldn’t have been here in the first place if either Poe or Leia had had their way. “This is what you couldn’t tell me about? Some kind of… rescue mission?”

Poe looks confused for a second, and then his face clears and understanding dawns and he looks significantly less pleased. “You found out. That’s why you’re here. Of course — she wouldn’t have told you.”

“Yeah, I _found out,_ ” Ben growls, hurt. “Are you and Leia _working_ with each other? I thought this was some kind of under the table — private commission, but if you’re _in_ on it — “

He sputters, rapidly losing the thread of his thought as Poe’s expression grows more serious.

“Not right now,” Poe interrupts him. “I need to take Finn to the med-bay with the others.”

“When the hell else are you planning to tell me the truth?” Ben manages to get out. The sour thing in his gut has twisted into some unrecognizable form. He’s angry, but he also feels kind of sick. “I can’t believe you stood there and lied to my face every time you went off on a mission — “

Poe looks down at the kid and then up at Ben, and then kneels. “Hey,” he says, “you remember Jessika? The one with the blue uniform? You see her over there?”

The kid nods. “Yeah.”

“Go with her, and make sure you take care of whoever she has with her. They probably need your help right now.” He pats the kid on the shoulder. “I’ll come find you as soon as I can.”

The boy nods again. He takes off without another word, rocketing through the crowd toward a woman in a blue flight suit and a long dark braid. Poe stands up and watches him go for a second. Then he turns to Ben. “I didn’t lie to your face.”

“You told me — “

Poe interrupts him again. “I told you the truth every time, and when I couldn’t tell you the truth I admitted it.”

“You omitted the ultimate truth, which was that your missions were for Leia, not the Starfleet,” Ben says. Then an awful thought occurs to him. “Is that why Leia put your name on the list? Because you were already working together?”

Poe frowns. “What list?”

“The list of people I could marry,” Ben says sourly.

“No! There was a list? Never mind.” Poe shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. She approached me after a mission one day, and I thought she was acting in extension of the Senate… although it quickly became clear she wasn’t. Not always, at least. Look, I trust Senator Organa and I believe in her. So far she’s done nothing to make me think I’ve misplaced my trust. She felt that until your coronation it wasn’t safe to share council with you, and I agreed that I would follow her lead.”

Ben clenches his hands in his robe. “Now would be an excellent time to share council, I think.”

“Yes,” Poe agrees quietly. “I guess it would.”

 


	3. makes fools of us all

Intentionally or not, Leia’s refugee children from the Unknown Regions have drawn New Alderaan into the heart of a conflict they are barely aware of. For now the children are safest on New Alderaan — its location has never been widely publicized, even among its allies — but Leia fears that the enemy will strike back now that it knows it isn’t unchallenged.

She calls it the First Order.

“I’ve been trying to get the Senate to see it for years,” she says. They’re in one of the receiving rooms on the island, Ben on one couch and Poe on the other, across from him, and Leia pacing in between them. Han stands off to the side, arms crossed, his face unreadable. “The Galactic Empire was a superpower — bigger than even I could conceive of. When we destroyed it and formed the New Republic in its place, some of those most loyal to the Empire slunk off into the shadows before we could root them out. I have always expected that they would rise up again one day. The Senate believes that peace will be never-ending and I’m a warmonger, paranoid. What they believe of me doesn’t matter, but the danger that the First Order poses is no phantom threat to be dismissed out of hand. So I went looking.”

“And you found it,” Ben concludes.

“I found one of their training facilities.” She glances over at Poe. He’s stripped out of his flightsuit and is wearing a dark shirt and pants, his hair sticking up wildly. He’s avoiding Ben’s eyes. He still looks infuriatingly handsome, although he’s unshaven and probably hasn’t showered for days. “Most of what I had the Commander doing was reconnaissance until that point. When the Senate refused to fund a mission I had to take drastic action.”

“So you thought the best way to keep me safe was not to tell me about it,” Ben says, “and secondly, to bring the children from your rescue mission here, to our planet, on the eve of a very public ceremony which is to be attended by hundreds of off-planet dignitaries?”

“I understand the melodrama, Ben, but I did what I had to.” She sits down next to Poe.

“What changes after the coronation? Why wait until then to tell me about the threat?”

“Your position would be secured,” she tells him. “I would have preferred not to tell you at all, of course — the fewer people who associate you with what I’m doing, the better — “

“You represent me in the Senate! How much more closely can they associate us?” Ben exclaims. “Maybe you should have considered that before you used your position to further your own agenda.”

“Oh, please,” she waves a hand dismissively. “The Alliance knows I have an agenda and they still elected me. Nobody thinks we have the same goals just because I’m your Senator. Or, Maker forbid it, because I’m your mother. Politicians expect everyone to be just as duplicitous as they are. If you’d known about the missions, though — if it had gotten out that you’d known — the Republic would’ve demanded that the Alliance put someone else on the throne.”

“Then you should have let them.” Ben stands up. “I’ve heard enough. I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

 

The fastest way to bring retaliation down on them, Ben decides, would be to show their hand. The coronation goes ahead as planned.

“There will be more guards,” Leia tells him as she tugs at the shoulders of his stiff ceremonial robe. “The shield dome will be active throughout the ceremony, and perhaps afterward. The Alliance doesn’t know about the threat, of course, and I don’t see the good in telling them.”

“You wouldn’t,” Ben says. Of course, truth be told neither does he. Leia drapes something about his shoulders and says nothing in response. Her lips are pressed together and she looks worried, but he’s not sure if it’s worry for their lives or just worry that he might say the wrong thing. It could go either way with her.

“There,” she says, pinning the collar expertly so that the stiff material stands upright on its own. “Just try not to move your head too much.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell the Thronemaker that she’ll need a stool to stand on if she wants to crown me,” he says. She pinches his ear sharply and he yelps.

“Relax, Ben. It’ll be fine.” She chivvies him into a seat and says, “Let me do your hair.”

It’s been years since Leia last did this, but he recalls when he was young she used to dress him and braid his hair before every session of the Senate — at least until he got old enough to complain about it. Not that he misses it, but it’s nice nonetheless even in spite of their current conflict. She’s in the middle of twisting them together in the back when there’s a knock on the door and they exchange a look in the mirror.

“No visitors,” Ben calls out.

“It’s me,” says Poe. His stomach drops. He and Poe haven’t spoken in two days, and Poe has been sleeping elsewhere. The last thing he wants today is to be distracted by this awkwardness between them.

“I’ll get it,” Leia says, tying off his braid. It doesn’t look terrible, he has to admit. His hair is swept away from his face and the braids entwined with strands of jewels, the light they reflect making him look more regal and less sullen. He fingers the collar of the ceremonial robe, the fine, lush material well preserved over centuries to be worn by regent after regent on days exactly like this one.

There’s murmuring at the door, and then Poe is standing beside him. His expression is soft and there’s a look in his eyes that Ben can’t bear. “You look great,” he says after a moment of silence. Ben refrains from replying with something unhelpfully sarcastic. “They’re ready for you now. I’ll be escorting you there.”

“My bodyguard?” Ben raises an eyebrow.

“I’m better in a starfighter, but I can do hand-to-hand in a pinch.” His eyes crinkle.

“As it happens, so can I,” says Ben.

“Not in that robe, I would imagine.” Poe helps him up, his presence solid and warm. It takes effort not to hold onto him for longer than necessary.

“Alderaanian ceremonial dress was not designed to fight in,” Ben admits, straightening the line of the long cape that falls about his shoulders. “Well, escort away.”

As they walk the stone pathway to the Throne House Poe breaks the silence between them. “Ben, I’m sorry — “

“Not now,” Ben interrupts him. As they get closer the roaring in his ears grows louder. He can hardly think past the anxious refrain going round and round in his head — surely he’s not going through with this, surely in a minute someone will come and tell him there’s been a mistake. “Please.”

The muscles in Poe’s arm tense under his grip. “Yeah,” Poe mumbles, “later.”

 

Ben stands before a crowd of witnesses — many of them kings and queens in their own right — and bows his head for the Thronemaker to fasten the crown to his dark curls. The words of ceremony tumble out of his mouth unbidden as she places the sceptre in his hand. When he straightens again, it’s to tumultuous applause and the bellowing of the horns across the lake; he’s King now, for better or worse.

 

Two days later, everything goes to hell.

 

It happens like this: Leia resigns her position.

It comes as a surprise — Ben hadn’t really believed she would ever leave the Senate until they had to carry her out of the Senate Hall in a pall. It was why he’d never bothered considering a candidate to replace her. Nevertheless she seems to be standing firm. Ben spends the day in a panic after her official announcement as he tries to placate Ministers and assure the Alderaan Alliance that he knew nothing about this and no, neither does he have a Senatorial candidate lined up (and yes, he is aware that the Senate meets in three days). Leia herself issues one release to the holoreels and one release to the public of New Alderaan and disappears, and neither he nor Han can find her. It’s a very long day and more than one person is out for blood by the end of it. Ben nominates three potential successors and suggests the Alliance find a further three and they narrow it down between them in a private session, but he knows that if any of his candidates are chosen in an election it’ll smack of favouritism and Leia’s resignation will look planned, as if he has an agenda he’s been waiting to put in motion.

Privately, he suspects Leia wanted it that way. Ben doesn’t like the idea of appearing too ambitious too early on — regents have been deposed for less — but he knows that she views ambition as a show of strength. Leia believes there’s nothing quite as effective as cowing one’s allies and opposition alike to get them to see things your way in the future, when you have real need. Of course, Leia practices galactic politics, and regional politics are somewhat more delicate in Ben’s opinion.

So he is, he thinks understandably, angry that she hadn’t so much as warned him. By the time he retires to his room, alone, he’s worked himself into a state and knocks back three drinks before he’s calm enough to fall asleep.

 

Ben wakes in the middle of the night feeling uneasy. His sleep was restless, troubled by vaguely ominous dreams that he can’t remember now. He rolls over in the bed and checks the time: still three hours until dawn. Today he’s meeting with the Alliance and if that doesn’t take up all his time he has another meeting scheduled with the collective of City Lords, because business goes on as usual. If he gets up now he can have a hot mug of caf and prepare himself for the day, but he’s still exhausted and his head is already throbbing. He flops back into the bed and closes his eyes.

Unbidden, his thought drift to the one person he’s been trying to avoid thinking about. He fiercely regrets their sudden split to different rooms, but he can’t bring himself to approach Poe and talk to him. It’s unreasonably hurtful to think of him deceiving Ben; he expects nothing less from Leia, but he’d foolishly begun thinking of Poe as being on his side.

No matter, he thinks. The state of things now is as it should have been from the beginning. He and Poe are certainly capable of remaining cordial; they’ll continue on their separate paths, and eventually the hurt will fade.

 

He’s almost asleep again when a noise in the outer chamber rouses him from his state of doziness. Suddenly alert, he pushes himself up on his elbows. There’s a muffled shout and the hiss of a door opening — _the guards,_ Ben thinks, his heart thundering in his chest as he scrambles off the bed.

The attacker takes him by surprise. His back hits the floor before he knows what’s happening. The black-clad figure is on him, one hand on his forearm and the other on his hip, trying to flip him onto his front with surprising force. He lashes out instinctively and catches her in the stomach sheerly by luck. The figure stumbles back with a sharp exhalation. Ben throws himself back against the wall as fast as he can manage before she’s on him again. Her boot lands squarely in his solar plexus and he’s down as fast as he got up. As he gasps for breath he kicks out with and catches her in the knee forcefully, and she makes a shocked sound and stumbles backward. He manages to get through the door before he sees her level a blaster at him out of the corner of his eye.

He drops to the floor not a second too soon and the first bolt whistles by above his head. He rolls and comes up beside her, getting in one good blow to the stomach. He wrests the blaster from her grip but she grabs his wrist and twists his arm up behind his back, forcing him to drop it. She picks it up and presses it to the back of his head, and Ben shuts his eyes.

Footsteps come down the hall. “Ben? What’s going on?” a voice says from the doorway, and Ben’s eyes fly open. The assassin raises her blaster as Ben takes in Poe in his sleep clothes, hair a mess, jaw slack with shock, and he moves without even thinking. He hears the blaster discharge as he leaps to his feet. Poe’s face seems to crumple in slow motion

“No,” Ben gasps, and something dark and vast rumbles to life in him and rears its great head. Heat courses from his core to his fingertips. He throws one hand out toward the weapon and the blaster bolt stops a bare inch from Poe’s chest.

Unthinkingly, he closes his fingers into a fist and _pulls_ back, and it’s like he’s telling the bolt where to move — it reverses direction with a terrible whine and finds its mark in the barrel of the blaster that bore it. There’s a sound like the shriek of an engine giving up the ghost and the blaster explodes in a wave of energy . Ben crumples, his legs giving out abruptly. The woman screams and then is abruptly silent.

“Ben!” Poe lunges for him.

Ben groans and tries to push him away. His ears are ringing and his vision is rapidly fading. He just needs to take a moment to recoup —

There’s a thunderous noise and the ground shifts underneath them. Ben grabs the nearest railing and struggles to his feet. “The blast must have destabilized the building,” Poe gasps, holding onto his elbow. “Come on.”

They stagger out the door, past the two incapacitated guards and into the stairwell. Ben realizes he’s leaning heavily on Poe and he can’t seem to stop. His legs aren’t working properly for some reason. His head spins and every time he blinks the world flashes a disorienting white.

“Are you okay?” Poe is asking him, one hand on his chest as he maneuvers them down the stairs. “Are you hurt anywhere? What the hell just happened?”

“I’m — “ Ben shakes his head. “I’m fine. An assassin, I think.” He stops abruptly. “What did I just do?”

Poe stops too, looking back up at him. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out later. Let’s get out of here before the building comes down on our heads.”

And Ben realizes like a bolt to the head: _I’m in love with him_.

 

The building doesn’t come down on their head, or at all. There’s a big chunk missing on the top floor where Ben’s rooms used to be and a lot of rubble on the ground, and Ben thinks that rightfully they ought to both be dead. Soon after that he learns that there was a similar attack on Leia — and he doesn’t much pity the hired killer who fell victim to Leia’s vicious security system. Later Leia surmises that in the wake of her resignation the First Order hoped to eliminate them both in one fell swoop and cut off support for any resistance against them. In light of their failed attempt, however, Ben rather suspects that they’ve shown their hand as a real threat to the stability of the New Republic, and that there will in fact be a resurgence in support for Leia and her crusade. He isn’t there to witness it, however. In fact, Ben doesn’t see much of anything except the interior of the Med House for another two weeks.

They can’t find anything physically wrong with him except an unusually high sensitivity to light, sound and touch. He can’t wear anything but the plainest clothes and even quiet voices give him a throbbing headache. He certainly can’t attend to matters of state; he can barely eat, or dress himself. Of course, in spite of the very tangible reasons not to leave Ben feels like he’s going stir-crazy by the end of the first week.

Leia doesn’t visit often but when she does her face is creased with worry. Ben sometimes pretends to be asleep when she comes to avoid seeing the uncertainty there. He wonders if she thinks he might never recover. Maybe there’s something wrong with his mind, he thinks sometimes as he lies awake at night — but then he remembers the all-encompassing heat, the rush he felt as he moved the bolt with nothing but the force of his will, and he thinks, _it’s_ real _, it’s something I’ve done to myself._

 

“Ben?” Poe stops reading aloud from the minutes he’s holding and looks up at him. Ben blinks.

“What?”

His lips move silently, and Ben shakes his head.

“I can’t hear you.” A quiet susurration of voices rises and falls in his head when he’s awake, these days. Sometimes he can hear what people are saying and sometimes it’s only noise — but there’s no way to explain that. It could be from sleep deprivation; after a week of waking up stiff and drenched with sweat from night terrors he stopped sleeping altogether, except in snatches as exhaustion overcomes him.

Poe sighs in frustration. “I said, are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Ben snaps, and immediately regrets it as Poe frowns.

“Maybe I should come back tomorrow,” he says.

“No, I — “ Ben reaches out toward him, wincing at his own weakness even as he says, “Please, just — I feel better when you’re here.”

Poe rubs a hand across his eyes. “Alright, I’ll stay,” he mumbles.

Later as Ben is drifting away again, Poe reaches out and touches his hand gently and keeps reading. Ben sleeps easily for at least an hour and wakes when the attendant comes with food after Poe has left. Nowadays there’s a yawning emptiness in him whenever Poe isn’t around, a space that he can’t fill with thoughts of his own. He tries not to examine the reasons why.

 

Near the end of the second week Leia comes to see him. She’s dressed plainly in a dark coat and her hair is wound into a long braid that’s pinned above her brow like a crown. She sits down beside him on the couch and reaches out to brush the hair off his forehead. “I know you’re awake,” she murmurs.

“Could you keep up the pretense that I’m actually asleep, for my sake?” Ben says hoarsely.

“Can’t do that, sorry.” She strokes his cheek. “Come on, kiddo. I’m breaking you out.”

Ben opens his eyes fully. “You’re what?”

“We’re going to Hosnian Prime. I think there’s someone there who can help you.”

 

The journey to Hosnian Prime is, surprisingly, not as unpleasant as Ben had expected. The ship is quiet, clean, and obviously very new. It doesn’t offend his senses overmuch, and even the jumps through hyperspace are relatively painless. It helps that the ship is run by a skeleton crew and the only people on board besides them, Leia, and Poe are the boy Poe rescued from the Unknown Regions, and the guards that Leia has hand picked for their protection. The hull has also been mounted with well camouflaged gun turrets, Ben notes when they approach in the shuttle, although the outside has been modified to look like a merchant trade ship. It’s good enough to turn away the casual eye.

He doesn’t doubt that anyone who’s really looking will see past the disguise.

There’s no sign of Poe on board when they arrive, but when Leia shows him to his cabin there’s already a bag inside, a familiar holovid player on the table. He turns, ready to demand why they weren’t given separate rooms, but she’s already hurrying away. Ben sighs and sits down on the bed, pulling his boots off. Everything _itches_ … it’s the worst part of this whole mysterious ailment. That and the voices, he supposes.

“Oh,” says Poe from the doorway. He looks up. “I guess your mother assumed that we — “ he waves a hand vaguely. “That we’d be sharing a room.”

“I can move,” says Ben, standing. “The ship is practically empty.”

“No, it’s okay. I’d feel better — that is, I don’t think you should be alone.” Poe kicks off his own boots. He hangs up his jacket in the tiny closet and sits down in the chair. “I’ll bring a sleeper in from another room. There’s plenty of room on the floor.”

Ben looks down at his hands, frowning.

“So, uh,” Poe says hesitantly, “have you seen the cafeteria yet? I can give you the grand tour. The ship’s a little lacking in… personality, but she’s in great condition.”

“After I rest,” Ben says.

“Right.” Poe agrees.

He glances up at Poe, but the other man shows no sign of moving from his chair. He’s rubbing absentmindedly at the back of his neck and there’s a distant look in his eye. Ben pulls his shirt over his head and hangs it over the end of the bed, feeling self-conscious, then tugs his pants off too after a moment of hesitation. The sheets are clean and soft against his skin and it’s a breath of relief from the sensory overload he’s been experiencing. He flips them up and slides his legs underneath. Poe inhales suddenly and Ben looks over at him.

“Sorry,” Poe says, his cheeks reddening. “Do you mind if I stay? I’ll just watch the holoreel.”

“Sure.” Ben turns his back, pulling the sheets up to his shoulder. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but he feels more settled than he did even that morning before the shuttle journey now that Poe is here, like he might be able to sleep without dreaming. He waves a hand. “The holopad is in my bag.”

“Yeah, okay.” Poe sounds strangled. There’s a shuffle of movement but Ben drifts off before it concludes.

 

When he wakes the room is dark and still. He feels rested, his head quiet. Automatically he waves a hand and _thinks_ the lights on as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Poe is still in the chair, his head tipped back and his mouth hanging open, snoring gently. The holopad dangles from the cord around his wrist.

Ben gets to his feet and pads over to take it from him. He stirs with a snort and his eyes fly open as Ben is bent over him, and Ben realizes too late that he’s still practically naked.

“Ben! You’re awake.” Poe scrambles up as Ben retreats. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Holoreels aren’t exactly stimulating,” Ben says with a shrug.

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t been sleeping well either.” Poe runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. Ben swallows with a dry click of his throat, fingers clenched around the holopad a little too tightly. Sharing a room with Poe is going to be a spectacular kind of torture, he thinks. “You sleep okay? You look…” He gives Ben a look that can only be described as a once-over, and Ben can _feel_ himself going red. “You look better.”

“I slept fine.” Ben grabs his shirt off the end of the bed and yanks it over his head. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll uh, wait for you outside.” Poe excuses himself hastily and disappears into the corridor. Ben heaves a sigh and pulls on his pants and his short coat. He sits on the still-warm chair to lace up his boots. He really does feel better. It’s like the difference between looking at a data stream bounced across five different sectors and seeing things with his own eyes, like the world is back in focus.

He joins Poe in the hall, arms folded across his chest.

“We’ll take it easy,” Poe says, giving him a sideways look. “She’s a pretty solid build. Almost brand new. The Starfleet could use a few of these — state of the art blaster cannons mounted up front, cleanly installed sensors, a shield generator that’s almost the size of the Captain’s cabin. I can’t tell you how many of the old military ships are outfitted with down-market shield generators barely the size of a mech droid.”

Ben follows him down the hall. “I’m surprised you haven’t had more high profile accidents,” he says. “An underpowered shield can fail mid-jump and disintegrate a ship in seconds. I thought the Starfleet was well funded.”

“Not _private military_ well funded,” Poe responds. “The Republic spends a fair chunk of credits on us, but to be honest militarism is out of style. The war’s been over for twenty years. Most sectors think we’re not much more than a trumped up police force. Unnecessary.” He shrugs. “It is what it is. It’s not as though I _want_ them to be wrong.”

“But they are,” Ben points out.

Poe grimaces. “I guess that remains to be seen.”

“Leia certainly thinks they are,” says Ben.

“In a position like hers, she can’t afford to wonder out loud if the enemy is a real threat or not,” Poe says. “I don’t envy her. People like me least have the luxury of seeing which way the chips fall.”

“So which way do you see them falling?” He comes up abreast of Poe as he cracks open a side door.

“Not in our favour, that’s for sure.” Poe waves him through.

Ben enters and looks around. “The docking bay?”

“It has a great view when we’re not the middle of hyperspace.”

Ben rolls his eyes and goes to the balcony, resting his elbows on the railing. Already a small bay, it’s crowded by three ships — a passenger shuttle, an emergency pod, and the old A-wing that Ben recognizes from the first time he’d met Poe. “That yours?” he asks.

“My mother’s,” Poe replies, coming to stand next to him. “You want to see it? I made some modifications.”

Up close Ben can see that the A-wing is in remarkably good condition for its age. It’s been a long time since he had the time to be interested in ships, but there are some basics that never really leave a person; engine specs, the speed at which a small craft should go from surface to stratosphere, how to gauge the strength of the hyperdrive. He runs a hand along the deeply pitted wing panels. “You fly it without a shield coming through the lower atmosphere,” he observes.

Poe nods. “Shielding protects a ship from friction, of course, but it also renders it clumsy. I’ve altered the shield to switch off automatically at certain altitudes for greater maneuverability.”

Ben strokes a particularly large score in the metal. The edges are rough against his fingers. Damage like this could be caused by a piece of debris no larger than his thumbnail with the speeds that a military-issue fighter travels at. “You could easily be knocked off course by junk in the atmosphere.”

“It’s happened.” Poe has a gleam in his eye which suggests this conversation is stroking his ego. “Takes a skilled pilot to adjust for that much turbulence. I like a challenge, though.”

Ben smirks. He’s read Poe’s file; his list of accolades is longer than Ben’s arm, and he’s the youngest commander in the Starfleet. The file comes with an addendum to his personal evaluation which uses words like ‘fearless’ and ‘risk-taker’ without irony or the usual military disdain for self-direction. “I bet you do. Show me the cockpit, then.”

“I’d open up the engine but my mech droid is back on Chandrila.” Poe clambers up the side of the ship and pops open the cockpit, and Ben pulls himself up and swings into it. It’s only designed for one pilot, but there’s an area behind the seat that’s clearly been modified for a droid.

“You use a mech-droid in flight?” Not a lot of pilots have the luxury. And droids are notoriously cranky — Ben has never been fond of them. Even Han never kept one on board the Falcon.

“You’ll like BB-8,” Poe assures him. “Everyone does. It’s is the sweetest droid I’ve known. A little neurotic, maybe, but kept me flying under pressure more times than I can count.”

Ben hums, thumbing the controls halfheartedly. They’re well worn but still soft to the touch, reacting easily to gentle pressure. He can imagine that this old craft would be a dream to fly in open space. “I guess I should thank your droid, then.”

Poe leans in a little to watch him. “Guess you should,” he murmurs, giving Ben a little smile that’s almost sly when Ben looks up at him. Ben’s breath catches in his throat. Ben is too big for the average fighter cockpit so when he turns he’s almost nose-to-nose with Poe, Poe’s dark eyes lingering a little too long on his. “Hey, I’m gonna — “

Ben panics. He turns away quickly and levers himself out of the seat, trying to ignore his pounding heart. “We should get going. This cycle will only last another standard hour or two.”

“Okay,” Poe says slowly, moving to let him climb past. There isn’t really enough room for two grown men to pass each other, and he can’t help the way his arm presses into Poe’s chest as he goes down. He forces himself not to fold his arms over his chest once he’s on the ground, instead stuffing them into the pockets of his coat. Poe jumps down easily.

He puts a hand on Ben’s arm. “I thought we — “ he says, hesitating.

“What?” Ben bites out, willing himself not to go red.

Poe removes his hand. “I thought we had a connection,” he says. “Before. I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry I kept that information from you. I think — I think it was the wrong thing to do, in retrospect. But I’d like to try again.”

“As friends,” Ben suggests, not sure if he’s hoping more for a confirmation or for Poe to say _no, as something else_.

Poe offers a small, self-deprecating smile. “If we can’t be friends we’re gonna have a rough marriage,” he says.

“Fine.” Ben takes a hand out of his pocket and offers it unsteadily. “I accept your apology.”

Poe grabs his hand and yanks him into a hug. Ben stiffens, then slides his other arm out from between the two of them so he can wrap it around Poe’s back. He rests his forehead on Poe’s shoulder and sighs against the warmth threatening to envelop him.

 


	4. the temple

“I’m going to be a Jedi Knight,” the boy is telling Ben. “That’s way cooler than being a soldier. You get a magical sword and stuff.”

“It’s called a lightsaber,” Leia tells him. He squirms in her lap.

“Are you gonna be a Jedi too?” he asks Ben.

Ben raises his eyebrows. “Your education regarding Jedi is somewhat lacking,” he says.

“Ben, be _nice_ ,” Leia tells him with a sigh. “He’s lived his whole life in some — _barracks_ with a bunch of other kids and some First Order goons raising them.”

They’re landing the ship on Hosnian Prime, since leaving it in orbit might clue someone in as to Ben’s whereabouts, and the three of them are on the flight deck watching the viewscreens. The boy is full of life and cheer in spite of his grim origins, bouncing back from his unorthodox and likely unpleasant past as only children do. He asks surprisingly clever questions about the function of each crew member and the navigation equipment, and Ben is a little worried about Leia’s obvious enjoyment of it all. He has never been concerned with giving her grandchildren, but he wonders if she hasn’t hoped for one all along.

“I’m not going to be a Jedi,” he informs the boy. “I’m far too old. In fact, according to the old Jedi creed, you’re too old as well. However,” he amends as Leia narrows her eyes at him. The boy is listening with wide eyes. “You are clearly an exemplary child and I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Finn grins. “You _are_ old,” he agrees.

“Luke accepts apprentices of all ages,” Leia says to Ben, her tone pointed. “I think you would benefit from some training at least.”

“I’ll do what he suggests to keep this under control,” Ben says, “and nothing more. I have no interest in becoming some sort of… trained warrior.”

“You could slice things up with your lightsaber!” Finn exclaims, wielding an imaginary sword for emphasis. “Wham! Woosh! Shhplt!”

Presumably the last noise is meant to be someone coming to a gruesome end. Ben pats his head. “I’ll have you to do that for me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” says Finn. He leaps off Leia’s lap and runs to demonstrate his new lightsaber-wielding skills to the nav-techs, who engage him indulgently. Ben frowns at Leia.

“Is it really the best thing for him? I thought you wanted to rehabilitate the children, not train them for war.”

“Jedi are not soldiers.” Leia sighs. “I know that you were aware I never wanted you to train with Luke… I’ve always been grateful you didn’t inherit a sensitivity to the Force. Until now, at least. But it was because I didn’t want to give you up — selfishly so. When you become a Jedi, there’s no room for anything else in your life. Not family, not love. There is nothing else in the galaxy more important to you than the ways of the Force. On the other hand… it is a gift, and it helps a person to be at peace with themselves.” She frowns, her gaze fixed on the viewscreens, where the forests of Hosnian Prime rise up to meet them like great rolling blue-green oceans. “Sometimes I do wonder if it would have been better for you.”

“I am who I am,” Ben says, slumping in his seat. “I cannot imagine leaping about with a lightsaber for all my life. Although it would certainly be useful to be able to convince people of my opinion.”

A little smile turns her mouth up at the corners. “It would, at that.”

 

The ship’s crew dissembles once they reach the surface. Poe accompanies them in the speeder to the temple, however, refusing to remain in the city. “I’m here to protect you,” he tells Ben, who rolls his eyes.

“I think that in light of events it’s more likely that I’ll be protecting you,” he points out.

Poe lands the speeder on the pad where a small figure stands waiting for them, the wind of their arrival whipping his robes up around him. He lowers his hood and lifts a hand in greeting as they exit.

Leia hurries forward and embraces him. “It’s good to see you.”

“It has been a while,” Luke agrees. “Too long. Ben was a child last time I saw him.”

There’s no reprimand in his voice, but Leia sounds defensive when she replies. “It’s a long trip to make, and we both have duties. You know that I miss you.”

“I know. I’m just happy you’ve come, although I wish it was under better circumstances.” He looks up at Ben and gives him a nod. “Ben. You’ve changed some from the fretful twelve-year-old I last knew.”

“Luke.” Ben returns his greeting. “You’ve gone grey.”

Luke chuckles. “I’d be concerned if I hadn’t, kiddo. And you must be Commander Poe Dameron.”

Poe shakes his hand, looking a little awestruck. “I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a legend, sir.”

“If you’ve heard it from either of them, I’ll assume it was all bad,” Luke jokes. “Come, we have a lot to discuss.”

The temple itself is a complex made up of several buildings: both residences and rooms for training as well as a second floor on the largest building which is dedicated to visitors. Luke leads them there to a wide open room with a view of the forest.

“You’ll be in the usual rooms, if you recall where they are. You’re welcome for however long you choose to stay,” he tells Leia. Turning to Ben, he says, “We have work to do. We should begin as soon as possible.”

“Work?” Ben asks.

“There are some things you should know,” Leia begins, but Luke cuts her off with a wave, his robotic hand gleaming in the light.

“Whatever I need to know, Ben will tell me.”

She frowns. “Perhaps I should come along regardless.”

“No,” Ben says. The last thing he wants is Leia looking over his shoulder. He would have preferred to make the journey without her to begin with. “I want to do this alone.”

“It will be better for Ben if it’s just him and I,” Luke says gently.

Eventually Leia concedes unhappily that Ben doesn’t need her support in this, and Ben gives a sigh of relief as they leave her and Poe conferring on the other side of the room.

Seeing them so familiar with each other still sparks a particular kind of irritation in him, but it’s buried under the anxious anticipation that turns his stomach now. He’s up and walking about, and his head is no longer crowded with noise, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for whatever Luke is going to put him through. He’s never watched Luke train; he has this vague notion that he’s going to try to make Ben move objects with his mind and he doesn’t think he can do that on command.

“What sort of work are we doing?” he asks as they pass by a series of open, classroom-style areas, all of them empty.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Luke says, ignoring his question.

“On?” Frustratingly, Ben finds he has to hurry to keep up. He’s taller by at least a head; he should be outstripping his uncle easily.

“Your marriage. Dameron seems like a good man. I would imagine he’s what’s keeping you from a total breakdown.”

“What do you mean?” Ben bristles at the implication, but Luke only shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be capable of handling the power contained in you when it awoke so dramatically. Don’t take offence. I mean that he grounds you. I can feel the spike in your empathic abilities already, and we’re barely out of his presence.” Luke turns to him, his bushy brows drawn low. “You were lucky. Or perhaps it was destined to be.”

Considering he chose Poe off a list of candidates and married him almost sight unseen, Ben thinks that destiny has little to do with it. He doesn’t tell Luke this, however. “So I’m not getting better, I’m only using him to… to alleviate the symptoms, somehow.”

“You might put it that way,” Luke agrees. “Here we are. The armoury. I think the first task you’ll need to complete will be to choose a practice lightsaber. Then we will begin the testing.”

“Testing?”

“Yes,” he says grimly, “and I’m sorry, but this part will not be pleasant for you.”

 

When Ben arrives in the room set aside for him at the end of the day, drained, his head buzzing, he wants nothing more than to collapse and sleep for days. His hands ache from gripping the unfamiliar weapon, his skin burns from the cling of his clothes, and his head feels stuffed full of emotions he can neither parse nor rid himself of because they don’t belong to him — they belong to the people who live here. He’s beginning to realize fully what kind of calming influence Poe had on him back on New Alderaan and the state he’d be in otherwise. It is, he thinks, only a little bit more terrifying than having fallen in love with him.

There’s a cot set up in his room next to the bed. Ben looks around for Poe’s bag, but it’s nowhere to be seen. He’s unreasonably disappointed; here, where he ought to be safe, Poe has no reason to stay in the same room as him.

He takes a shower — a real one, not a sonic shower, one of the few luxuries he misses on a ship — and climbs into the bed, warm, damp and naked. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

He sleeps poorly and is drifting in and out of wakefulness when the door opens. Without meaning to Ben reaches out with his mind to identify the intruder, and he winces as a sharp pang reminds him of what Luke told him earlier in the day: manipulating the Force is never without a price.

Poe’s mind is blissfully unreadable; Ben’s probing just slides right off him. The bed dips and Poe leans over him, one hand on the other side of his shoulders. He sighs.

“You’re something else.” A calloused hand strokes his cheek with surprising gentleness. “I know you’re awake.”

“I don’t want to open my eyes,” Ben mumbles, because he feels like if he does he’ll discover he’s dreaming.

“I can hardly ever tell what you’re thinking,” Poe says softly. “Sometimes it seems like you don’t want to be anywhere near me. But I don’t think that’s the case at all, is it?”

Ben doesn’t answer. His pulse soars. He rolls over and looks up at Poe braced over him and he reaches up with a shaking hand to pull him down. Poe smiles against his lips.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” He kisses Ben again and Ben groans, fisting his hands in Poe’s hair.

“Yes, you’re very attractive and I wouldn’t kick you out of bed,” Ben mutters, fumbling for the ties on Poe’s shirt.

“A rousing endorsement.” Poe runs his hand down Ben’s ribs, pushing the sheets out of the way.

“I’m exhausted,” Ben points out, although he’s working Poe’s shirt over his arms. Poe shoves his pants down and kicks them off. He’s already half hard, his cock canting charmingly to the left from its nest of curls, and his chest is flushed. He slides his thigh up between Ben’s legs to press snugly against him, and Ben inhales sharply.

“I know something that’ll help you sleep.” Poe moves his hips in a way that turns Ben’s spine to liquid and Ben lets his head fall back onto the pillow, panting.

“I don’t remember there being this much talking last time,” he gasps.

Poe noses up his jawline and bites his ear. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s a little — “ Ben shivers. “Distracting.”

“That’s too bad,” Poe says, sitting back. He runs his hands up Ben’s smooth chest and rubs his nipples casually. Ben shuts his eyes and bites the inside of his lip. “I was going to tell you how lovely you are.”

“You don’t — “

Poe pressed two fingers to his lips to silence him. Ben sucks them into his mouth, watching with satisfaction how his eyes go dark and heavy-lidded. “How much I want your mouth,” he continues. His cock jumps against Ben’s hip. “That I’ve thought about this almost every night since the first time.”

He rubs his spit-slicked fingers over Ben’s lips and then kisses him roughly. Ben bites his lip and he jerks back in surprise. “If you’d asked,” he begins.

“Would you have said yes?”

_I’ve been waiting,_ Ben wants to say.

_I would never have said no._

But he doesn’t know what this is to Poe — a lack of other options, maybe, another night they won’t talk about later, or his way of keeping Ben in his orbit, having let him spin out once. His way of keeping the peace. So he only says, “I’m saying yes now,” and fumbles between them. Poe arches his back as he wraps his hand around both of them and strokes. He brings his hand up and spits in his palm and then it’s better, wet and easy, Poe moving his hips in tiny jerks like he can’t help it. His head hangs down and his eyes are fixed on Ben’s hand and the slick red head of his cock thrusting out of the circle of his fingers. Ben rubs his thumb over the slit and feels him shudder against him, his arms trembling with the effort of keeping him up.

He lifts his hand to his mouth again and licks the slippery precome from his fingers, smirking up at Poe, who makes a breathy noise and drops his forehead to Ben’s collar. “You’re so — “ he groans.

“Up.” Ben pushes at his chest. “Sit up.”

Poe obliges. Ben shifts under him and urges him forward until he gets the idea, shuffling on his knees until he’s straddling Ben’s chest. His cock bobs and he swallows, reaching down to push Ben’s hair off his sweat-sticky forehead. He braces himself on the headboard and guides his cock between Ben’s lips with one hand. Ben closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the heavy muskiness of it, the weight of it on his tongue, the way Poe touches his face almost reverently as he fucks his mouth, slowly at first, although it’s obvious he’s trying to restrain himself. Ben gets one hand on himself and swallows a moan around Poe’s cock and Poe jerks forward, roughly hitting the back of his throat. He swallows and breathes through it, shuddering as Poe pulls back just a bit and then slides in again like it’s his right. His hand works the shaft of his cock and his hips shift restlessly.

Poe pulls away as his thrusts start to get rough. He looks down at Ben, bottom lip clenched firmly between his teeth. Ben’s other hand grips his thigh so tightly it’ll probably bruise, meeting Poe’s eyes, and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, his throat hoarse.

Poe nods mutely.

“Do you have lubrication?”

“Hand oil,” Poe says, and Ben raises both eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Okay, it’s lubrication.” Poe moves off of Ben and looks away. “Sometimes I, uh, use it on myself.”

Ben goes hot all over at the thought — Poe opening himself up, his face slack with pleasure, two fingers deep inside his own hole. “Next time I could help,” he offers, leaning forward.

“You could this time,” Poe says, looking back at him, uncertainty written on his face. “If you want.”

“No, I want you to — “ he digs his fingers into the muscle of Poe’s thigh, his cheeks red with humiliation. “Please.”

Poe kisses him gently this time, one hand spanning the back of his neck; an assertion, Ben thinks. A casually possessive gesture that grips his heart in a tight fist and steals his breath. He keeps his eyes shut while Poe rifles through his bag.

This time Poe has him turn onto his stomach. “It’ll be easier,” he murmurs. Ben doesn’t tell him that it feels more uncomfortably vulnerable than anything. He’s never liked this part.

He rests his forehead on his arms and breathes as Poe strokes the small of his back, rubs his fingers across the dip of his spine, spreads his ass open with both hands and then runs his thumbs between the cleft where his thighs begin. He flips the cap open on the lube and moments later his slick, wet fingers run up and down across Ben’s hole and Ben sucks a quick breath and holds it.

“Shh,” Poe whispers, kissing the knob of his spine. He slides the first finger in easily and it doesn’t hurt at all, only feels as strange as Ben remembers. Poe pushes it in deeper and then fucks him like that, a steady rhythm that sets his nerve endings tingling and his cock taking interest again. He groans into the sheets and thrusts his hips into the bed.

“That’s good,” he mumbles.

“Another?”

“Yeah.” He lets out a low noise as Poe adds a second finger, but it’s just as good — maybe it’s even better. He pushes back experimentally and yeah, _oh_ , it’s better. Poe swears.

“You want it?” He’s talking into the muscle of Ben’s shoulder and it reverberates through him. “You want me to fuck you? Feel my cock deep inside you?”

“Fuck, yeah, just do it,” Ben moans, burying his face in the bed so Poe can’t see his expression.

“Okay, okay, hang on.” His rhythm falters and he slides a third finger alongside the first two, and Ben can’t help the whine that escapes him.

“ _Please,_ ” he manages. Poe withdraws quickly. There’s a pause, and then he’s pulling Ben’s hips up and maneuvering in behind them and pressing into him all in one smooth movement. His cock is _thick_ and full and bigger than his fingers, and Ben gulps for air in between noises he can’t believe he’s making. When Poe’s hips are flush with his he moans and bites down on his wrist, eyes squeezed shut.

“You okay?” Poe manages, sounding strained. Ben nods wordlessly. “I’m just gonna — you move when you’re ready, okay?”

He lets out a strangled noise when Ben rolls his hips. “I’m ready _now,_ ” Ben growls.

Poe fucks him at an easy pace and it’s not like he isn’t grateful because he’s already pretty overwhelmed, but he also hates that Poe is trying to be gentle with him because he isn’t going to break.

He squirms until he can reach one hand underneath himself to cup his erection, just barely touching it, Poe’s thrusts pushing it through the loose curl of his palm. He feels like he could come like this if he just squeezed down. Instead he slides his fingers down further to the tight stretch of his ass around Poe’s cock, rubbing tentatively and then sinking one finger inside. Poe bites his neck and pulls out abruptly.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” he says. “Turn over.”

Ben ends up on his back, one leg bent up at the knee as Poe pushes a pillow under his hips. He pulls lazily at his cock, watching Poe from under his eyelashes. Poe leans down and mouths at his jaw as he braces one hand on Ben’s knee and pushes back in.

“Ah!” Ben’s mouth falls open.

“Yeah,” Poe says, hot breath washing over Ben’s ear. The smugness is clear in his tone. This time Ben barely has to touch himself before he’s coming. It takes him by surprise and he pulls Poe in for a sharp, biting kiss as he shudders through it. Poe stills, and Ben hooks his other leg around his back and tugs him in closer.

“Keep going.”

Poe obliges. It isn’t long before his thrusts become erratic and he slams into Ben one last time and buries his face in Ben’s neck, a moan escaping him. He stays like that, hips twitching, until Ben feels the come leaking out of him and squirms discontentedly.

“Think you can sleep now?” Poe murmurs, muffled by Ben’s hair.

Ben hums. He doesn’t reply, afraid that the words on the tip of his tongue will spill out without his meaning them to in the most awful cliche of admitting one’s infatuation after sex, doped up on the feeling of it. He rolls over when Poe gets up, feeling languid and sleepy. Poe kisses the side of his head and pads off, and Ben falls asleep between one breath and the next.

 

For the next two weeks Ben does little training other than meditation. It is, infuriatingly, both too dull to look forward to and too difficult for him to do well at. He has little patience and cannot maintain a meditative state for any length of time that seems acceptable to Luke. His failures leave him with a headache and a recurrence of the dreaded voices, an indistinct but colourful murmur that haunts him until he collapses into bed next to Poe. He feels very strongly like he’s wasting his time.

Leia leaves after the first three days. He assumes she’s returning to New Alderaan, but Poe tells him after she’s already gone that this isn’t the case.

“She’s been talking about building a base of operations,” he says. “None of us know where, but there are plenty of people who would follow her into war — people she’s eager to recruit before the Senate hamstrings her or the First Order takes action against the Republic.”

“Away from New Alderaan, then,” Ben surmises, trying to imagine running the planet without Leia looking over his shoulder. It’s unsettling to think about. She’s been a constant presence almost all of his life, and in spite of how much he dislikes her meddling he also still finds himself instinctively looking to her for approval.

“Yeah.” Poe fiddles with his mug of caf, watching Ben reconstitute their supper. “She asked me if I would fly under her.”

Ben looks up sharply.

“In her — what, her personal navy?”

“There are others who support a base of resistance against the threat of the First Order,” Poe says. “Senators, Admirals, and wealthy civilians alike. It is a legitimate endeavour.”

“No doubt,” Ben says. But that isn’t what bothers him. “You would serve her, though,” he tries again.

“Yes.” He isn’t fooled by the way Poe tries to cover his expression by taking a drink and not meeting his eyes. He’s _guilty_.

“From her base.”

Poe hesitates. “Yes.”

Ben slides one of the two plates over to him and picks his up. “Very well. Whatever you think is best.”

“Where are you going?” Poe looks up as he stands.

“To the garden,” Ben says, taking his cup and his plate and leaving the room before he expresses his hurt in some way that ends their tentative co-existence.

Luke finds him easily. “You like the garden,” he says, sitting down next to Ben on the bench. Ben raises his mug and takes a loud slurp of caf. Reconstituted meals are unsurprisingly not very satisfying, although nutritionally sound, but he appreciates Luke’s effort to keep the temple stocked with small luxuries like this one.

“It is usually empty of people,” Ben says pointedly, “so yes.”

“It’s probably not wise for a politician to let themselves become misanthropic,” Luke offers. Ben sighs, resigning himself to an evening of increasingly obscure advice. At least, he thinks, it’ll be better than having to talk about Poe’s re-assignation.

“Perhaps if people weren’t so consistently disappointing,” he returns.

“Leia has always been much the same, I suppose,” Luke concedes. He crosses one leg over the other and wraps his hands around his knee. “But she has always had a passion that kept her going. In spite of everything she cares very deeply about the state of the galaxy and she believes she has the capacity to change it.”

“And I don’t,” Ben concludes. He looks off at the still light horizon, the washed-out colour of the sky that fades to black where the stars he knows so well wink at him from unfamiliar configurations. Luke hums under his breath.

“Not yet,” he says.

 

The next day Luke meets him in the room where they meditate but doesn’t join him on the mat. “Get up,” he says. “We’re going to the armoury.”

Ben unfolds himself and stands. “I don’t need weapons training.”

“Knowing how to fight is knowing your own body,” Luke says. “Your abilities are greater than any youngling here except one. You will not learn to live with them without learning your limits. You’ll start by training with a droid, and then we’ll move on to one-on-one combat depending on how well you progress.”

It occurs to him as he follows Luke to the armoury that Luke is talking in terms of weeks, perhaps months of training — and though he doesn’t receive the holoreels here he has no doubt that in the time of his absence plenty of Ministers have taken opportunities the Alliance wouldn’t otherwise have allowed them, his apparent display of weakness likely making them bold. “I cannot stay here for long,” he tells Luke. “Is this the most efficient way to handle my… abilities?”

“No,” Luke says. “The most efficient way would be to take suppressants. However suppressants are not a permanent solution, and they work differently with every individual. I suspect in your case, being that you manifested so late in life, they would not work at all.”

“Why haven’t we tried?” Suppressants sound more pleasant than what he’s been going through.

Luke frowns. “Because the Empire used to use them to keep Force-sensitive individuals in check, and they are now illegal.”

Ben sighs. “Of course.”

“Choose a ‘saber, please,” Luke says, indicating the wall. With trepidation, Ben approaches.

Ben spends two days learning basic combat moves before Luke sets him up with the droid. He immediately discovers that it’s much more physically _and_ mentally taxing than meditating, and when Luke insists that he continue to meditate in the morning and evening on top of lightsaber training he doesn’t even complain. It’s almost a relief to be able to sit in one place, close his eyes and empty his mind.

The combat droid is much like what he used to train with when he was tutored in personal protection at the age of fifteen, except that it fires laser blasts at him instead of throwing punches and if he gets hit, it knocks him out cold. He learns pretty quickly not to get hit — of course that doesn’t mean he’s any good at hitting back. It’s been a long time since he felt so ill at ease with his own body, his size and his clumsiness. He is unimaginably grateful that there is no one else except Luke in the room when he trains, and that his uncle remains so inexpressive that Ben simply can’t tell if he is being judged and found wanting.

Luke does occasionally snap out instructions, like “Raise your elbow,” or the spectacularly unhelpful “Don’t let it hit you,” but he never offers opinions on Ben’s progress — or lack thereof — and all he ever says at the end of the day is, “Meditate for one hour tonight.”

At the very least, between exhaustion and Poe’s unchanging presence in his bed Ben sleeps like the dead until dawn every night.

 


	5. an awakening

_He’s in a fighter_ : though he’s never been in one before, the controls are so familiar that he pilots it without even thinking. The noise of the hyperdrive is bone-rattling through his helmet and the stars are just streaks of light through his visor. In his ear, the gunner chatters away. He’s never liked this part — the weight of their flight squeezing down on his chest, the ever-present fear that this is the time he’ll drop into normal space and hit an asteroid or a planet or get caught in the gravity well of a star. At least, he thinks grimly, any of those would be a quick death.

The nav console beeps at him and he shakes himself. He’s not usually this morbid. He’s a fighter — he flies, he shoots, he goes home. No room for speculation in between.

“Dropping now,” he hears himself say. His voice is gravelly with disuse; it’s been a long flight. “Cut the radio chatter, fifty-two.”

“Aye,” his gunner replies, and falls silent. He reaches out and pulls the lever home and the hyperdrive dies with a whine as the world comes into focus around them. The ship rattles and shakes like it’s going to come apart and the engine’s distinct shriek of complaint can be heard inside the cabin in spite of the insulation. Hunk of junk, he thinks, although not without some fondness.

Others wink into being nearby. “Sound-off,” someone barks — _Captain_ , he thinks. Other voices chime in with familiar numbers.

“Nine-three reporting,” he says. “Five-two and I are in position.”

He taps in the new coordinates and brings his fighter around as they finish the sound-off. The controls respond like they’re an extension of him, and he bares his teeth in a savage grin at the familiar rising excitement that swells in his gut, the anticipation before the fight. On his screen the target comes into view.

 _Strange,_ he thinks. That blue-green world looks familiar, although he’s never been this far to the galactic North before; or maybe he has, maybe it was only two standard months ago that he was here watching the planet rush toward him — an odd kind of understanding dawns on him, and, horrified, he shakes his head violently, as if the movement will dislodge the errant thought.

“ _Get out_ ,” he snarls. “Get out, get out — “

 

Ben sits bolt upright with a gasp.

His is clammy with sweat, his hands fisted in the sheets. Beside him Poe stirs, disturbed, reaching out to him unthinkingly. It was so _real_ , so vivid. He scrubs at his face with his hands. He was there in hyperspace, and then inside the system and looking at that planet through his viewscreen —

 _The planet,_ he thinks. This _planet._

“What’s wrong?” Poe props himself up on his elbow and rubs at his eyes. “Bad dream?”

“No,” Ben says shortly. He scrambles out of bed and fumbles blindly for his clothing, discarded next to the bed. “I need to, I have to find Luke.”

He yanks on his boots and his coat and stumbles out into the hall. Behind him Poe makes muffled noises of confusion. He ignores them.

Luke lives in a small building on the edge of the temple grounds, barely more than a single room with a bed. Ben has been there once; it’s on the other side of the grounds from where he and Poe sleep, almost hidden by the craggy rock formations. He suspects Luke built it somewhere purposefully difficult to access, easy to defend — perhaps from force of habit, perhaps because he suspected an unfriendly future to come. Now Ben curses Luke’s paranoia as he looks out into the dark. He’ll risk turning an ankle, at the very least.

He heads down the trail nevertheless, driven by adrenaline, and somehow he reaches Luke’s hut without falling.

Staring at the door, Ben feels a sudden pang of uncertainty. The farther he gets from his bed the faster the memory of the dream dissipates, like smoke in the air, leaving him feeling foolish and a little cold in the sobering night. Maybe he ought to go back. He hesitates, his hand raised to knock, and then steps back. It was surely nothing — just a dream.

As he turns to leave, the door opens.

“Ben,” says Luke from the doorway. He’s half dressed, his hair in disarray and his beard wild, but the most striking thing is the way his eyes fix on Ben like he can see into his head and Ben has the most curious idea that Luke is reading his thoughts that way, rifling through them and discarding them so quickly that a moment later he is done. Then he realizes it’s not so curious; Jedi _can_ read minds. The thought makes him shiver.

“I thought it was you.”

“You heard me?” He hadn’t been quiet in his mad dash, to be sure.

“I felt you coming.” Luke begins to do up the ties on his shirt. “What is it? One of the children?”

 _He didn’t see anything_ , Ben thinks incredulously. _He looked into my mind and didn’t see it._ “It’s… nothing,” he says eventually. “Just bad dreams. I’m sorry to wake you.”

Luke looks at him sharply. “Bad dreams that drove you all the way out here in the middle of the night?”

“Yes, I — well, I guess it felt so real. I don’t know why I came.” He sighs, regretting his haste now. “I used to have night terrors. It was like I was trapped in them. I couldn’t wake up. This reminded me of them and I suppose I reacted without thinking.”

“Come inside,” Luke says. He steps aside. “Sit down, please.”

Ben sits in the single chair. Luke sits across from him on the edge of the bed. He looks somber, or maybe just tired. “Tell me exactly what you dreamed.”

The strangest thing is that it’s slipping away even as Ben tries to recall it. “There was a ship,” he says. “I think I was inside a ship. A smallish one, with a — “ He gestures with his hand. The word escapes him; all he remembers is the sound, the clanking of the engine, the stars — the planet —

“The planet!” He stands up abruptly.

Luke looks up at him. He’s smaller in his regular clothes, no robe to disguise the slightness of his figure, and a worried frown wrinkles his forehead. There’s no serenity in his gaze, no calm assuredness. Dread creeps over Ben. “It’s them,” he says. “The First Order. They’re coming here, to Hosnian Prime.”

 

“Do you know how to activate a shield?”

“Yes,” Ben says, hurrying after Luke. The man moves like someone twice his size when he’s motivated. Ben feels like a boy stumbling along in his wake. “Where is it?”

“Behind the armoury. There’s a small building that houses the generators. You’ll have to turn both of them on before you activate it, or else it’ll burn out.” Luke holds out a key. “Take this. Get your weapon from the armoury and meet me outside the creche. _Hurry_.”

Ben leaves him at the entrance to the main building and heads toward the shield room. It’s not far, but every step feels like it’s one step too many. When at last he reaches it and fits the key into the door, the klaxons sound and he lifts his head. _They’ll hear it_ , he thinks.

Inside the shield room there’s a series of runner lights along the ceiling which illuminate the generators sharply. They’re not a familiar build but Ben has always had a good intuitive sense for machines, and he can’t afford to hesitate now. He kneels behind the first one and finds the control panel. It takes him a few minutes of precious time to figure out how to turn it on, but once awakened the great machine rumbles to life without any trouble and Ben gets to work on the second.

Before he can activate the shield itself he hears a sound like the scream of a dying animal and the ground shudders abruptly. He swears. They’re firing on the temple — there are younglings inside, children who are barely out of infancy. Poe is in there. He grips the shield lever, his hands shaking.

Silence falls as he raises the lever.

Outside the shield holds strong against the fighters. They’re strange, unwieldy ships that look built for flight through frictionless space rather than planetary atmospheres. As Ben watches they come together in formation and another, larger ship descends between them to the temple grounds. That one he recognizes: it’s a military transport ship. Inside are foot soldiers, whom the shield will do nothing to turn away.

He makes his way back along the wall and heads toward the creche where Luke waits. Along the way he sees several young Jedi in the halls, those who aren’t Knights yet in their own right but who are skilled enough to be of use in combat. It strikes him as he passes one who looks barely fifteen, whose lightsaber hilt hangs from his belt and smacks against his leg as he runs, that they are indeed training children to be soldiers, whether or not Leia tells herself otherwise.

“Luke,” he calls when he finally reaches the creche, the long open hall where the youngest trainees sleep. Luke kneels among the younglings and when he hears Ben he rises, turning.

“Stay here,” he says to Ben. “There’s only one entrance; guard it.”

“Where are you going?” Ben steps toward him.

Luke’s face is pinched with exhaustion now and he shakes his head. “There are other things I need to protect. Information the First Order cannot get its hands on. I must destroy it before they find it.”

“Information that’s more important than these children?” Ben demands.

“Keep your voice down,” Luke says evenly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this. I trust you. I have sent for Commander Dameron to join you and I will return as soon as I’ve done what I must. The Hosnian Military will arrive soon — you need only keep the younglings here until then.”

“And what if the Order finds us? I’ll be no match against trained soldiers.” Ben can’t deny that he’s panicking now, his chest tight with it.

“They won’t.” Luke presses a lightsaber hilt into his hand. “But if they do, you remember your lessons and fight like your life and the lives of these children depend on it.”

Ben sits among the younglings when Luke leaves. They’re mostly quiet, because he’s told them they must be. They range in age from three to ten; of the youngest, only one is crying — great heaving breaths that she’s muffling in the shoulder of some older child, her little hands balled into fists. Among them he spots Finn, who clambers over to sit next to him almost immediately, followed by a small girl child with mousy brown hair.

“This is my friend Rey,” says Finn. Standing, he’s only a little taller than Ben. The girl barely comes up to his shoulder. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears and her mouth is set in a stubborn line. Finn grabs her hand. “She’s the best at _everything_.”

“My name is Ben,” he says, holding out a hand. “Come sit down.”

They crowd around him and it seems to embolden the other children to come closer.

“We’re being attacked,” Finn asserts solemnly.

“That’s right.” Ben clips the lightsaber to his belt and rests his palms on his knees.

“Are we gonna fight?” He leans forward.

“No,” Ben tells him. “We’re going to meditate.”

There’s a chorus of mumbles and sighs and the children rearrange themselves into cross-legged positions, for the most part, except the crying girl and her friend. She lifts her head, though, her sobs dying down into sniffles. Ben looks around the room.

“Would someone like to lead, please?”

 

Ben lifts his head, hearing a noise in the corridor, and gets to his feet. Finn opens his eyes and Ben puts a finger to his lips, and he nods eagerly. The girl next to him, Rey, watches him steadily. He turns away and goes to the door. He can hear voices in the corridor, indistinct and mechanic, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. His heart pounds and he unhooks the lightsaber from his belt. He doesn’t think, all things considered, that he will be any barrier at all between the enemy soldiers and the children.

The footsteps pass and Ben lets out a breath. He returns to the children and gets them all to their feet. The hall is long and wide, a communal shower through the door at one end and rows of double beds along the wall. Out in the open they’re vulnerable, Ben thinks, and they can’t move the beds to create a barrier. The most defensible place to hide is in the shower room.

“Finn,” he says, bending over. The boy looks up at him. “I need you to bring them into the shower room and close the door. Make sure you don’t make any noise.”

“Aren’t you coming in with us?” Finn asks.

“I’m going to stay out here,” Ben says. “Don’t worry. I’ll be just outside if you get scared.”

“I won’t,” Finn asserts. “And if anyone else does, Rey and I can keep them quiet.”

“Maybe just comfort them,” Ben suggests. As he watches, Finn whispers something in Rey’s ear and she nods and they separate, going to each group of younglings and giving them instructions. They troop into the shower room in sets of two and three. Ben stays until they’re all inside before he goes back to the creche’s main entrance.

Outside in the corridor it’s quiet, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Ben makes a quick foray to one end of the hall and is almost spotted by three soldiers in head-to-toe white armour. He ducks back out of sight and rushes back to the doorway, his heart hammering in his chest. He is in no way ready for this.

He takes a deep breath and searches for some kind of reassurance inside himself, some calm place, but finds nothing.

Too soon he hears another set of soldiers coming down the hall from the left, and he steps back through the door and shuts it. He presses himself against the wall and listens to them approach. They pause at the door.

“No one’s checked this one off,” one of them says through the filter in his helmet.

“Check it off,” says another one. “I’ll take a look. Probably another damned storage closet.”

The door swings open. Behind it, Ben holds his breath.

“Not a storage closet,” the soldier asserts. “This place is huge. Looks like the kids sleep here. Cover me, I’m going in.”

 _Leave_ , Ben thinks frantically, _there’s nothing here, go, go, look somewhere else_ —

“Looks empty,” someone else says. “Just mark it.”

“I dunno,” the first soldier says doubtfully.

“We’ve got the rest of this floor to cover,” says a third voice. “Are you going in or not? If so, get on with it.”

“Nah — “

“Wait.”

There’s silence. Ben grips his lightsaber hilt so tightly his fingers are losing their feeling.

“There’s a door down at the end there. Better check that out.”

Ben thumbs the lightsaber on and swings it just as the first soldier comes around the door with his blaster up. He fires twice and Ben blocks the shots unthinkingly, parries and then thrusts straight at the soldier’s breastplate. The lightsaber punches through the metal easily and the man cries out and stumbles back, still shooting, his bolts going wide. The second and third soldiers are upon him immediately and it’s all Ben can do to keep from being shot. He backs up as they advance, ‘saber swinging in tight arcs. Luke’s voice in his head is saying _don’t be where your opponent is aiming_ and it’s completely unhelpful, he _is_ where they’re aiming. But somehow — miraculously — he isn’t dead.

A blaster bolt grazes his shoulder and he cries out, his concentration broken, and in a panic he reaches down inside himself to the power he knows lies waiting and draws it up through his hand and _throws_ it toward them, clumsy and unfocused. Both soldiers rock back as if hit by something physical. As he’s bringing his lightsaber up to press his advantage a familiar voice rings out.

“Get down!”

Two shots, and both of the soldiers crumple. “Poe!” Ben lowers the ‘saber and straightens.

Poe grabs his arm. “It’s not safe on this floor. We need to get out. By the Maker, you left and then I heard the klaxons — the TIE-fighters — are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Ben grips Poe’s hand. “We can’t leave. The children are in here.”

“The younglings?” Poe looks around and spots the door. “Luke _left you here_ with the younglings? I’m going to kill him.”

“Please don’t,” Ben says. “He’s a Jedi warrior and we need him to stay alive.”

“The _hell_ we do,” Poe growls. “What was he thinking?”

“We should bring the other soldier inside and close the door — “ Ben begins, and then he breaks off, because the third soldier is gone. “Where is he?”

Poe holds up his hand. “Stay here.”

He disappears into the hall and Ben hears his blaster go off, and when he reappears he’s dragging the body. “He called for backup,” Poe says. “They know where we are.”

“We can’t leave. It’s too dangerous to try.”

Poe takes a second blaster off one of the bodies and holsters it. “We’ll stay here and fight.”

He takes a third one and hands it to Ben, who shakes his head.

“I don’t need it.”

“You can’t fight with that thing,” Poe says, and Ben hefts the lightsaber.

“I can and I will. I’m a terrible shot. It’s this or nothing.”

Poe shakes his head. “I am going to kill him _and_ Leia,” he mutters. “Fine. Stay behind me.”

He closes the door and takes up position on one side. Ben props himself against the wall behind him, eyes fixed on the nape of Poe’s neck where his curls stick to his skin above the collar of his jacket.

This time there are more soldiers.

They shoulder the door open and Poe takes out the first, the second, and shoots the third in the arm before two of them get through at the same time and force him back. Ben corners one of them and kills him easily — a thrust through his breastplate into the heart. He watches the soldier with a kind of sickening clarity, but there are more soldiers and there isn’t time to think about what he’s just done.

He fights side by side with Poe until the last soldier is down and then he lowers his lightsaber, panting, looks around at the carnage and promptly doubles over and empties his stomach.

“Hey.” Poe rubs his back. “Okay. We gotta move these bodies into the hall. More troopers are probably on their way and it might slow them down.”

“You want to — ?” Ben’s stomach heaves again and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah. Think you can help?”

“No.” Ben shudders. “Yes. Yeah, I can help. Let’s get moving.”

Together they drag the dead soldiers into the hall, until Ben tries to move one of them and a groan issues forth from the helmet. He leaps back. “He’s alive.”

“Leave him.” Poe lifts his head. “They’re coming. You hear them?”

He hears the tromp of boots in the distance. “I hear them.”

They take up their places again and wait with baited breath. Outside the door the boots stop, and there’s a rumble of voices and the sound of bodies being dragged away. Ben swallows.

When the door finally swings open Poe almost shoots the first soldier who comes through before he realizes it’s not a trooper — it’s a man dressed in green fatigues with the red patch of the Hosnian Prime Military on his breast.

“Lower your weapon,” he barks.

Poe lowers the blaster slowly to the ground and raises his hands. “I’m Commander Poe Dameron of the New Republic Navy,” he says, and the soldier eyes him warily. Another man appears in the doorway, blaster trained on the ground, wearing a stripe that identifies him as an officer.

“State your number,” he snaps, and Poe rattles something off that Ben doesn’t follow. “Who’s this with you?”

Poe glances back at him and hesitates. Ben gives a minute shake of his head. If he’s recognized so be it, but he’s not going to give himself away by choice. If, as Leia suspected, there are spies among them, it isn’t safe for anyone to know his whereabouts.

“This is Ben,” says Poe. “He’s a trainee.”

“A Jedi?” The officer shakes his head. He motions for the first man to stand down. “You two are crazy, holing yourselves up in this room. You should’ve headed for the forest.”

“The younglings are in here.” Ben steps forward. “Can you provide a passage to safety for them?”

The officer turns to him. “You’ve got children in here?”

Ben points to the door wordlessly.

 

The younglings are shaken but unharmed. There are a great deal more tears, and even Finn looks frightened as the soldiers surround them and lead them away.

“There’s a fighter for you if you want it, Commander,” says the officer. “We would be grateful for your assistance in the pursuit.”

“Thank you.” Poe holsters his blaster. Before he can say anything else he’s interrupted by a commotion at the end of the hall, and Ben spots Luke making his way through the soldiers. He touches Rey’s head and pauses to murmur a few words to her. “I’d like to speak with Master Luke first,” Poe says.

“You should go with them.” Ben turns. The soldier who’d first come upon them stands next to him. “I saw… you’ve never been in a battle before, have you?”

“No.” Ben looks away.

“There’s a military shuttle taking the children to a bunker outside the city. There’s plenty of room on it.”

“I’m staying,” Ben says.

The soldier frowns. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“You are not staying here, Ben,” Luke butts in abruptly as the soldier leaves, having obviously overheard them. “There’s a ship with coordinates waiting for you in orbit. I’m afraid you’re no longer safe here.”

“My training — “ Ben begins, but Luke waves his hand.

“Certainly you would benefit from many more months of training — years, even — but you are progressing quickly. Once we have relocated the temple you may return for further training. For now, you have the skills to cope with your abilities.” He looks over to where Poe stands talking with the officer, his attention obviously split, frequently looking over at the two of them. “Commander Dameron is a strong presence in the Force. In that way perhaps it’s for the best that you manifested so late — too late to train as a full Jedi. You have something most Jedi never get.”

“What’s that?” Ben frowns. The officer is leaving and Poe is making his way over.

“Come on,” he says. “This area is secure. There’s a shuttle out there.”

“You go ahead,” says Luke. He pulls Ben down into a brief hug. “Good luck in your journey. May the Force be with you.”

Ben straightens. “And with you,” he says. He holds out the lightsaber, but Luke closes his hand around it and presses it on him.

“No, keep it. It’s only a practice weapon, but I think it has served you well today.”

 _I killed a man with it,_ Ben thinks, but he only nods and hangs it from his belt as he turns away. Poe takes him by the elbow and steers him down the hall.

Groups of Hosnian soldiers stand at the junctures they pass and exchange greetings with Poe, who takes it in stride. It’s strange to see him among other soldiers, a reminder of how much a part of his life this is. It was easy to forget when Ben only ever saw him during his down-time, or here, holed up it the temple.

“Did he tell you where you’re going?” Poe asks, and Ben shakes his head. He’s numb with exhaustion, the adrenaline draining out of him rapidly, and he can’t bring himself to wonder about it.

Outside the air is thick and cold and the stifling smell of smoke hangs like a fog around them. The shield is still up and the ruined bodies of the Order’s ships lay strewn across the temple’s field and among the rubble of the buildings themselves. Fire billows from one of the buildings adjacent to the temple. Hosnian ships are lined up along the grounds and soldiers are clustered at every major entrance.

“This way,” Poe says, leading him to a small, sleek shuttle amidst the military ships. Ben recognizes it as a droid-piloted ship. He climbs the ramp silently, pausing at the top to turn back and take one last look over the field.

“You’ll have time to think about it later,” Poe says. He comes up the ramp and Ben looks at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” Poe says, as if it’s obvious.

“No, you’re not.” Ben puts a hand out to stop him from entering. “You’re going to help the Hosnian fleet track the TIE-fighters back to the command ship.”

Poe crosses his arms. “They don’t need my help — they’re perfectly competent.”

“They need your help more than I do,” Ben says.

He almost misses the hurt that flashes over Poe’s face. Startled, he lowers his hand.

“Look,” Poe says, “I know this was just an arrangement for you. I know you didn’t _want_ a marriage, but I did, so for my sake could you just — let me care about you?”

Ben stares at him, the words registering slowly. “You wanted to marry me?”

“Yes,” Poe says, almost defensively. “I knew who you were and I thought it would be a good union. You’re a principled man, hard-working and well respected. And, uh, handsome. You were by far the best offer I’d had.”

“Was I,” Ben says flatly. He had never considered Poe’s motives for marrying, never imagined that they had been any different than his own. It was obviously both hypocritical and illogical for him to be hurt by the idea that Poe had chosen him because he had no better options — he himself had chosen Poe for far more selfish reasons. He hadn’t even imagined wanting to spend time with him. Now the thought of his casual choice makes his head spin with its unkindness, the idea that he had purposefully wanted to distance himself from a man who had accepted his proposal hoping for a union of, if not love, some kind of mutual admiration.

“I know that you chose me because I’m a pilot, and you hoped I would be away frequently,” Poe says, “and that’s alright. I suspected as much when I learned who you were. But marriage is about compromise, and I’m afraid I’m not always going to be so accommodating. I’ve had a very long night and right now I need you to let me choose where I want to be. And if you need me to,” he pauses, some inscrutable expression crossing his face. “To stay out of your business, for the most part — I can do that. But not right now.”

Ben feels something twist up in him as Poe brushes past, and he reaches out without thinking and grabs Poe’s arm as he dials the ramp up. “I love you,” he blurts out, to his horror.

Poe turns smoothly, slams him up against the wall of the ship and kisses him. It’s rough and bruising and Ben pulls him closer a little desperately, his heart slamming against his ribs and his throat full of words he can’t say. Poe pulls back, hands still in Ben’s hair. He breaks out into a shy half smile and Ben has to close his eyes, so he doesn’t see the expression on Poe’s face when he says, “I know.”

 

Epilogue:

“I’m not staying,” Ben says emphatically. He knows Leia has been expecting this, which makes it doubly frustrating that she insists on arguing the point.

“It’s too dangerous still,” she says. “We don’t know if there are more spies. They may be waiting for you to return.”

“I can’t run the planet from a military base in the middle of nowhere.” Ben folds his arms and leans back in his chair. They’ve been having the same argument for days now. He knows how close Leia is to invoking Poe, her trump card, and he’s waiting for it.

“The Alliance had _hoped_ to bring stability and strength to New Alderaan with a regent,” she says, “but they aren’t going to fall apart without you there. Give it some time. Let us root out the Order’s men and women.”

“Now more than ever New Alderaan needs to be strong,” Ben says. “That means a ruler who stays in the face of danger, not one who stays in hiding for the first year of his rule. And you need allies out there. They can’t elect a Senator without my vote, and you’d be well served by someone in the Senate who can lobby for you.”

“Are you saying you’ll do as I suggested and make sure your pick gets the office?” She lifts her eyebrows at him.

He sighs. “Yes, exactly.”

“You may be getting the hang of politics,” she mutters. “Good thing, since I’m getting out of them.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You can still run New Alderaan from behind the curtain. And Leia — “

She looks up. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and even in her plain jacket she looks every inch the General they’ve titled her. He feels a fierce pang. “I’ll be fine,” he tells her.

She smiles. “Yes. You will be.”

“By the way,” he says. “I’m taking your best pilot. He’s flying me back.”

“Well, as long as you return him.” She flicks open her accounting reports and Ben stands.

“I’m keeping him an extra few days,” he says. “I think we’re due a honeymoon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic really got away from me. Thank you to JakkuCrew for the perfect prompt and for waiting so gracefully for it to be completed (: and thank you to mod perlaret for the extra time and unending patience.  
> Arranged marriage is one of my all time favourite tropes, but this ended up being a little more plotty than I'd intended -- as is usually the case when I sit down to write something serious.
> 
> I did fiddle with the kids' ages a bit, and some of the world-building details may not be totally accurate so I apologize to any sticklers!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] These Hands Hold Stars / written by reitoei](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12549968) by [EosRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EosRose/pseuds/EosRose)




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